


More Than My Dearest Friend

by FanficCornerWriter19



Series: Equals, Lovers, Soulmates [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: A little drama up the line, F/M, Fluff, Meet when they were kids trope, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:50:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 70,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficCornerWriter19/pseuds/FanficCornerWriter19
Summary: Elizabeth's father takes his six-year-old second daughter and her older sister to London to tour the parks there, since she absolutely loves nature and the outdoors. In London Elizabeth makes an accidental friend by tripping into him and later, flying his kite. When they quarrel and separate, they end all contact for four long years, until they meet again. Exactly how awkward does this get?(Former title: A Little Pride and Prejudice. Posted under current title on ff.net, changed it due to a review there about finding this fic.)(NOTE: this fanfiction is now an outdated version. The rework is up on ff.net and still ongoing, but once it's finished I'll be replacing these chapters with the reworked ones. Please be warned.)





	1. Of Cartwheels and Kites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EJ06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EJ06/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When we were young](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297263) by [EJ06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EJ06/pseuds/EJ06). 



> Hi!  
> I have to remind you, dear readers, that the name 'Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy' was taken from Pamela Aidan's trilogy 'Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman'. I also have to tell you that this story takes place in a different universe from my other work.  
> 

Lizzie had never minded what other people thought of her, especially because she was only six years old. No one's opinion had ever mattered to her more than her father's or Jane's, and they always reassured her that she was a good person - and she trusted their judgement, since Jane was the much more mature age of eight, and their father was even older and more experienced - thirty-nine. Or maybe it was thirty-nine. She couldn't be expected to keep count, but she tried anyways. 

It was well into the summer that her father took her to see the parks of London. Hyde Park was, of course, out of the question, but some of the other parks welcomed the lower-class gentry, such as a few near Gracechurch Street, and some more near the affluent part of London - and an unfortunate distance from Aunt and Uncle Gardiner's home. 

"Papa!" Elizabeth complained, pushing her brunette curls out of her chocolate brown eyes. "Why do we have to walk so far?" 

"Now, Lizzy, we will be there soon, so you will be able to rest your poor tired feet. I apologize, my girl, but your uncle cannot spare any horses for our carriage, and you will have to walk. Jane at least does not complain, see? Worry not, my girl, you will be able to climb trees as much as you like, and run around to your heart's content. Perhaps you can even weave a flower crown for Mary." 

"What good does a flower crown do for a girl of four years, Papa?" Elizabeth stubbornly asked, halting. 

"Very well, for Kitty, perhaps?" 

"It does even less for a two-year-old!" 

"Alright, for Jane, then." 

"Alright!" Elizabeth still remained standing in one place.

"Lizzy, the faster we walk, the sooner you can get there, and the sooner you can rest your feet." 

"Yes, Papa." She began walking again.

"Now remember, there are two parks to visit today."

"Yes, Papa." 

The first of these was a park the Elizabeth could not be bothered to remember the name of. It was wide, beautiful expanse of soft green grass, and on such a fair day as this one, it appeared to be liberty and freedom itself under the blue sky. There were trees and park benches, of course, but most of those were scorned by Elizabeth as she ran out onto the green, accompanied by her father and Jane. Their father took them to a part of the park where they would not be seen by most of the more fashionable crowd in the park, where Elizabeth could try to climb trees to her heart's content. And climb she did - after a good tea time picnic and a nice long rest for her 'poor tired feet'. 

Jane had brought a few little snacks from her Aunt Gardiner's kitchen as well as the hamper their father had brought, and sat placidly next to her father as she enjoyed the treats. Elizabeth crowed from the third highest branch in the tree, her frock miraculously unharmed, as she waved her hands from the top. "Papa! Papa! See how high up I am!"

Her father smiled indulgently, and beckoned her down to eat. "Lizzy, if you do not come down and eat, you will have nothing to eat later, and then you will regret it." Elizabeth scowled but climbed down. However, after a scone or two and some milk, she was racing across the grass with her arms stretched out. She had never been in this park before, so she was determined to enjoy it as much as possible before she must return to Gracechurch Street. 

Such was her enjoyment, however, that she did not see the kite flying up in front of her, or its owner, focused solely on his pastime to notice the little girl in front of him, until they collided with such force as to bowl even the tall boy over. 

His kite-string got tangled up in his dark hair and his arms, while the kite itself hit the ground four feet away from them. Elizabeth, disoriented, took a moment before she realized that the boy was standing up and trying to disengage the string from his purple fingers. He failed miserably, even managing to entangle his numb fingers even more. 

Elizabeth laughed and reached up. "No - the string goes there, now the reel underneath, and over, and back again, no - not _between_ them, _over_ them. Sorry, did I tug it too hard? Sorry!" She tugged determinedly at the string, unknotting it, untying it, untangling it, until she could safely pull it out of his hands without cutting off one or more of his fingers. 

Only when she had completely disentangled the boy's now-normal-colored fingers did she dare to look up and examine him.

He was very tall, almost double her height, and looked to be about twelve or thirteen, even older than Jane, judging from his clothing. He was no longer in a little boy's coats, and he was also out of skeleton suits, evident by his green coat, cream breeches, dark boots, and cravat. His hair was very dark brown, almost black, and tousled, so that it looked very boyish and kind of... adorable, although his demeanor warranted that he would never wish to be called such. His face had not yet lost its childish roundness, but it was as serious and grave as a grown man's - or even more so, since Elizabeth had never seen her father look that severe. She wondered why so young a boy would be so sad-looking, though his face was flushed with the running he had been doing to follow his kite. 

She at last raised her eyes to his. They were a brilliant cerulean blue, almost as light as the sky above him, and were studying her intently. Unashamedly returning his gaze, she noticed a golden ring around the blue irises.

"Hello, sir. I apologize for crashing into you," she said lightly, dropping into a rather awkward curtsy. She felt even more embarrassed about her bumbling curtsy when he sketched a perfect bow. "Good afternoon, miss." He dragged his bright blue-and-yellow kite back to him, and Elizabeth felt bubbly with excitement. It was a beautiful - what was it? "What is that?"

"That is a _kite_ ," he said, articulating clearly and carefully to make sure she understood. He hesitated for but one second, then he offered her the reel. "Do you want to fly it? -Just once." His voice was not very deep, but it cracked several times all the same. 

Elizabeth squealed in delight. This was wonderful! "Yes! Yes! Thank you!" she cried, throwing her arms around the boy's waist, which was the highest she could reach. He stood still, awkward, until he - driven by an instinct, perhaps (it certainly seemed so) - pulled his arm up and stroked her hair. When she skipped back, he gave her the reel and held up the kite. They waited until a strong gust of air blew their hair into their eyes, at which point the boy shouted, "Run as fast as you can when I say 'Go!', alright?" 

"Alright!"

"One, two, three, GO!"

Elizabeth pumped her little legs as fast as they could go - and it was fast. She looked back, breathless, and saw the great big blue bird soaring on the wind, and then she concentrated on her running. Finally the boy shouted, "Now stay still and let the wind do its work!" 

She obeyed, turning back to see the kite flapping up and down in the wind, and the boy running towards her, a grin on his stoic face. It transformed his expression completely, and his demeanor went from staid and proper to boyish, wild, and happy. To her immense astonishment he actually did a cartwheel at the last stretch, coming up in front of her. She felt envious of his obvious dexterity and freedom, because his cartwheel was free and easy, and he evidently was very good at it. 

"You are very good for a novice," he remarked, looking up at the kite. "In fact, you are very good, even if you had not been a beginner. I believe you have got the hang of the kite-string better than I!" 

Elizabeth smiled. "Thank you!" As payback for the compliment, she handed the reel back to him, and steered his hands - they really were very inept - so that he flew the kite properly. 

He smiled at her when the wind dropped as well as the kite. "Thank you for your instruction, Miss -?" He stopped short, remembering that he did not know her name.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Bennet." She grinned at him, and he smiled again. 

"Miss Bennet, then." 

"No, no, I am _not_ Miss Bennet," she said petulantly, making him school his features, though an amused grin still danced in his eyes. Yes, his _eyes_ ; they were so expressive that they could be taken as a face altogether. "Miss Bennet is my sister Jane! I am Miss Elizabeth!" 

He gave her a grave bow. "May I have the honor of meeting your sister, Miss Elizabeth?" 

"Wait; not yet. I have not learned your name yet." 

He shrugged uneasily. "If you have been good enough as to supply me with your full and real name, perhaps I should do so as well." He rolled up his reel. "Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy, at your service, Miss Elizabeth." 

"How can you say that?" she asked in consternation. "Fitz-will-um is already a mouthful, and you add 'George Ale-sander Darcy' to that as well?" 

He laughed. "I find it tedious to pronounce my name in its entirety, so I shorten it. Most people call me Mr. Darcy the younger, or Master Darcy, but I prefer to be called William, as my cousins call me." 

"May I call you William, Master Darcy?" 

"William it shall be, then," he said. 

"And you may and can call me Lizzy," she offered. 

"Not yet," he said. "I wish to be further acquainted with someone before I call them by a nickname. My cousin Richard, for example, I have known all my life, so I call him Richie. My cousin Alexander, who is named after his father- where my third name comes from - allows me and only me to call him Alex. So I will not call you Lizzy until we are better acquainted." 

"Oh, very well."

"Fitzwilliam!" A man's voice carried over the field. "Where are you?" 

"Oh," said Fitzwilliam, looking abashed. "That is my father. I must go, Miss Elizabeth. Goodbye!" The boy gathered his kite to his chest and took off. Elizabeth stared after him, looking for the man he said to be his father. William was very fast, she could give him that, although if she was his height and age she could probably still win in a race. Disappointed not to catch a glimpse of the older Mr. Darcy, she wandered back to her father and Jane, and ate a few more scones. 

"Now, Lizzy," said her father mischievously, "I saw you running around earlier, with some poor boy's kite. What did you do now, Miss Lizzy?"

"I did not _steal_ it, Papa," Elizabeth protested. "I bumped into him, and he offered to let me fly it once." 

"Did he, now?"

"Yes Papa, and he is very tall. He says to call him William, and he looks very sad when he does not smile," Elizabeth rambled on, as a six-year-old is likely to do when they meet a person they like, particularly when that person has lent them his or her kite. 

"How old is he?" Mr. Bennet wondered aloud. 

"I think he is twelve, or maybe thirteen, Papa, for he is in men's clothes and not skeleton suits like you say boys have when they can wear pants but not breeches." She picked at the cloth on her father's knee for emphasis. "Also, he is very tall, and his voice is not very deep, but it is deeper than mine - and it _wobbles_." 

"Wobbles?" repeated Mr. Bennet in amusement. 

"Yes, it wobbles, Papa! One minute his voice is deeper than yours, next minute it is as high as mine! And sometimes it is in between, so he sounds not quite a boy - but not quite a girl, either," she said, and scrambled off her father's knee to climb more trees. 

Thomas Bennet laughed as his daughter pelted him with some of the small blossoms from the tree.


	2. Of Parks and Pebbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Wow! Thank you for all the positive comments and kudos! I still glow inside every time I get a comment... it really feels like I'm getting into the spirit of this story! Thank you, my supportive readers... and another shoutout to EJ06!

Elizabeth reluctantly dragged herself out of the tree at five o'clock, seeing as they still had another park to visit - whichever park that was.

As soon as she entered the park, she saw a familiar kite with a familiar boy flying it in the center. She tugged on her father's hand. "Papa, Papa, that's William!"

"William, is he? Alright, lead the way, my Lizzy." Thomas was highly amused. Elizabeth nodded, and began to walk forward. Luckily, no one was in sight to see the six-year-old girl shouting across the green. "William!" Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes and waved at the older boy. "William!"

The boy turned towards her, and at the same moment, a downdraft soared towards the unfortunate boy, sending his kite crashing straight into his face and the boy onto the ground. Elizabeth gave up on propriety and dashed straight for her newfound friend, however tenuous their acquaintance was. "William, are you alright?"

"I - I believe so," he murmured, rubbing his watering eyes and bruised cheek. The wind blew his hair into his eyes, and he rubbed harder as he tried to rid himself of the itch. Elizabeth saw the hardship his hair was giving him, and as impetuously as little children do, with all the innocent kindness of childhood, reached out and held his hair back.

Once he had finished tending to his bruises and eyes, he turned to her thankfully. "Thank you for holding my hair up."

"It was nothing, but you are welcome." Elizabeth shrugged her small shoulders and offered William a hand up. "Come on, get to your feet."

"Thank you," he said again, and availed himself of the support. He looked at her intently. "You remind me all the time of my baby sister," he said quietly. "She is but two years old, and you remind me not in looks - for my sister is blond and blue-eyed - but in deeds. Like her, you are always doing things out of simple kindness." He smiled. "Like pushing my hair out of my face when you know my eyes are smarting."

Elizabeth smiled. "Are you hungry? I think we still have some scones left over from our picnic!"

William laughed. "No, I am not. But if I am not much mistaken, that is your father and older sister coming towards us this moment, correct? Would you be so kind as to introduce me?"

"Yes!" Elizabeth ran to Mr. Bennet, caught his hand, and tugged him in the direction of her friend. "Papa, this is William. I cannot tell you his full name, since I cannot pronounce it - it is so long and complex!" She stuck her tongue out, much to the amusement of the older people, even Jane.

"Very well then," Mr. Bennet remarked, "I shall have to do with William. How old are you, boy?"

William slightly bristled at being referred to as 'boy', but he wisely held his tongue on that subject as he replied, "Thirteen this past April, sir."

"Are you in Eton yet?"

"Yes sir, but I have been sent home for the summer holidays."

Mr. Bennet nodded. "And so, since my daughter cannot pronounce your name, I will hear it from you, young sir."

William shifted from foot to foot, then answered, "Fitzwilliam, sir."

"Is that your given name or your surname?"

"My first Christian name, sir. My father would prefer for me not to reveal my full name to strangers."

"My daughter was a stranger."

"Well, she gave me her full name, so I felt obliged to offer mine in return. Besides, she did help me out of a rather, ah, tangled situation." William glanced sidelong at Elizabeth, who erupted in a bout of laughter. "Nice, William! Nice!" Jane merely smiled as she tugged on her little sister's hand to keep Elizabeth from rolling about on the ground.

Mr. Bennet still pressed for the young man's name, and so William reluctantly said, "Darcy."

"Part of your given name or your surname?"

"My surname, Mr. Bennet."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy. How odd." Mr. Bennet frowned intently. "I believe I recall my sister-in-law mentioning some Darcys where she lived. Do you by any chance live at Pemberley Manor?"

William's face brightened. "Yes, I do! However did your sister-in-law come of know of my family? - if you will please excuse my prying, Mr. Bennet." He looked at Elizabeth, who was intently stalking a bird on the grounds like a little white cat, crouched as she crawled forward, with Jane silently standing behind her.

"Madeleine married my wife's brother, but she was originally from Lambton. A bookseller's daughter, I believe she said she was." Mr. Bennet winced as he realized that his honesty might taint the Gardiners, and him and his daughters by association. "I apologize for my frankness, but my sister- and brother-in-law are very good people, certainly with more sense and tact than most of the gentry of my acquaintance; you would like them very much, given what I know of you."

William had already stiffened. "I am certain I would, sir."

"Fitzwilliam!" The same voice from earlier came from the trees on the left, and a moment later Elizabeth got her wish. An older man, perhaps forty or so, strode out of the wilderness on the left of the park, undoubtedly Master Darcy's father. His hair was the exact same shade of dark brown as his son's and Elizabeth's, but his eyes were very dark, almost black. His features almost exactly matched William's, but his nose was just a tad longer, and his forehead perhaps a bit broader. He was more than two heads taller than his son, reaching about six feet of height and an additional inch or two. Mr. Bennet looked up from the son to the father. The top of William's head was level with his shoulder, and so he himself was about half a foot shorter than Mr. Darcy.

"Father!" William turned and went to stand by Mr. Darcy's side. "Mr. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, this is my father, Mr. George Darcy."

Elizabeth's face brightened in comprehension. "Oh! Oh! Is that where you get the 'George' in your name?"

"Yes," father and son responded simultaneously. They stared at each other for a moment, and burst out laughing. Mr. Darcy ruffled his son's hair, and Master Darcy smiled admiringly at his father. Elizabeth smiled. "I like you, Mr. Darcy."

Mr. Darcy bowed. "And I you, Miss...?" He turned to his son for introductions.

"Oh. Father, this is Mr. Bennet, this little lady is Miss Jane Bennet, and the little one who likes you is my new friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet." William's face was already neutral, although his eyes were bright enough to contain a thousand smiles.

Mr. Darcy squatted on his heels so that he could be at Elizabeth's eye level, and held out his hand for the little girl to shake, which she did enthusiastically. "And I you, Miss Elizabeth."

"Thank you, sir," Elizabeth said shyly.

George Darcy pulled out his watch. "Fitzwilliam, we must return home. It is getting late, and I do not want to leave your mother alone with your sister at such an hour. Come, my son." William bowed to Mr. Bennet, but said, "Wait, Father." He knelt to Elizabeth's level. "Will you come here again tomorrow, at the same time you came today? I will be here. I want to play with you again." His eyes twinkled as he whispered conspiratorially, "I will bring my kite."

"Yes!" Elizabeth replied, grinning.

"Thank you!" William stood. "It is settled then. Tomorrow!" He waved one last time as he and his father walked away. As he watched, Mr. Bennet sounded amused. "It is a good thing your mother is not here to witness this; otherwise, she would begin to plan your wedding to this young man as soon as he was out of sight, eh?"

"Papa!" Elizabeth complained. "William is not _courting_ me!"

"I did not say so, Lizzy. I only said your mother would _think_ so."

"Let us go back to Aunt and Uncle's, Papa. I want to see if I can make a kite of my own!"

Mr. Bennet laughed. "Very well, Lizzy, and if you cannot, I will either make or buy you one myself."

"Thank you Papa!" Elizabeth practically pranced out of her park with Jane smiling up at her father. "I think William is a sweet boy, Papa," Jane remarked. Mr. Bennet smiled at her. "Yes, he is. He will be a good friend to Lizzy, unlike the rest of us old folk!" He chuckled as Jane followed Elizabeth out of the park, and he himself ran after them to help them cross the street.

* * *

The next afternoon, Elizabeth was practically dragging her father through London to go back to the park. Tucked under her arm was a fair-sized butterfly kite that she had miraculously made - with her father's assistance, however little that assistance was. The reel was clutched possessively in her left hand as she employed her right with urging her father on.

"Lizzy, I can barely walk, stooped over like this," Mr. Bennet complained. Lizzy turned back to him, and with her usual liveliness, remarked, "Then maybe you should walk faster when you are not stooped over!" She let go of his hand and walked on, her small black shoes rapping out a sharp little staccato on the sidewalk. Today, Elizabeth wore a green frock with a hair-ribbon to match.

Mr. Bennet laughed as he jogged to keep up; today, Jane was out with the Gardiners to see some of the other parks. "Yes'm," he said obediently, which made Elizabeth laugh and walk all the faster. Finally they reached 'the park', as Elizabeth called it.

"Miss Elizabeth!" William's voice carried over the green of the park as he waved wildly from under the shade of the very same tree Elizabeth had climbed the previous day. Resting on the ground beside him was the big blue kite he owned.

"William! William!" Elizabeth ran over to him as fast as her legs would allow. She held up her kite proudly. "Look! I brought my kite that I made myself!"

William smiled delightedly. "Let me see," he said, as though examining children's kites was a thing he always did. He looked it over carefully, checking the string, the reel, the material, weighing it in his hands and testing the strength of the string. He handed it back to its owner with a smile. "I see you did a very good job. Did you tie this knot yourself?" He pointed at the sturdy diagonal lash around the two sticks of the kite frame.

Elizabeth nodded. "Although Papa taught me how the knot goes, and I had to repeat it, attempt after attempt, in order to get it right."

"Still, it is a surprising accomplishment in a child. I remember that I reached ten before I tried the knot myself." He leaned over and pointed out the expertly tied diagonal lash on his kite. "It took me three years to master it." He met Elizabeth's eyes, and she grinned. "Shall we fly them now?" she asked.

William licked one finger and held it up. "I think we should get out into the open now, for I feel a wind coming from... that direction!" He jumped up, pointing at the south, and he and Elizabeth raced each other to the tree directly across from theirs. Of course, Elizabeth won, no matter how fast William was.

William leaned against the tree trunk, panting. "I cannot... understand... how you... can be... so fast... with a kite... under your arm!" he cried, the genuine nature of his heavy breathing apparent through his disjointed speech.

Elizabeth grinned inpishly at him. "Come, William, I believe the wind has picked up enough for us to fly our kites!" She ran out onto the grass, letting her kite catch the wind.

She soon discovered that William had been practicing much, and was now better than her at kite-flying, for he winked, and told her, "Watch!" He steered the reel expertly, making his kite do a figure eight in the brisk afternoon breeze. Elizabeth stared at him in amazement, completely ignoring her own kite until William offered to teach her. She agreed happily, and the afternoon was spent in lessons and races.

* * *

A disheveled Elizabeth pranced out of the park, clutching her father's fingers in one hand and her kite in the other. "May we go again tomorrow, Papa? William said we could meet him there!"

Mr. Bennet laughed at his little daughter's infectious joy. "Yes, of course, Lizzy, my girl." And so they did. Every day for a week, Elizabeth brought her kite to the park in order to fly and race with William. The young boy, amazingly, seemed to enjoy it as much as or even more than the little girl.

However, the next week, instead of her kite, Elizabeth had brought a strange-looking rock. It was a peculiar shade of green, with glittering specks embedded in it. "Whatever is that, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked.

Elizabeth skipped along, eager to be able to play with her new friend, as she had also brought her skipping-rope. "It is a rock, Papa. A pebble from the garden."

Mr. Bennet sighed exasperatedly. "I meant, whatever is it for, Lizzy, my girl? I sincerely hope you do not intend to throw it at young Master William!"

Elizabeth laughed merrily. "Of course not, Papa. William asked me to bring it because he said he would teach me a game today; he called it hoppy-scotch, whatever that is." Mr. Bennet burst out laughing at his daughter's frank answer. "It is hopscotch, my girl, not hoppy-scotch. Maybe I shall join you for a turn?"

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue. "You must let William have the first turn, Papa, if he wins our skipping-rope race! It is not fair that we have promised the winner the first turn and then you come along and ruin it all!"

"Yes, Miss Lizzy, I will let the winner have the first turn," Mr. Bennet answered.

"We are here!" Elizabeth announced, before running inside.

William stood at his usual place under the tree. He waved merrily as Elizabeth entered, and, apparently they had arranged a greeting between them, for they engaged in a rather complicated hand trick, at the end of which, to Mr. Bennet's astonishment, William stooped and, carrying his little friend easily, twirled her around in a brotherly fashion. Once he put her down, he ruffled her hair, and Elizabeth hugged his waist. To all appearances, they had been acquainted for years, when it had, in reality, been only a week.

Beside the young man stood a small sack, and a small stone, which was a dark blue. He had also brought a dagger, no doubt for scraping at the dry soil, and a brown skipping-rope.

Mr. Bennet walked over to listen to the boy explaining the rules of the game to his friend, and at last William stood up and unsheathed his boy's dagger. He drew three identical squares in the soil, then two squares side by side, then one more square, another pair, and lastly two squares and a semicircle at the end. He wrote numbers in the squares, then stood up and untied the sack, which was discover to be full of bright-colored sand. William filled in the lines with the sand, and brought out his skipping-rope. William and Elizabeth raced across the green and back again, with the longer-legged William winning as predicted. He took the first turn, and then Elizabeth took the next, while Mr. Bennet, true to his promise, took the last, but lost it due to his marker being thrown on the line between 3 and 4.

William gallantly offered Elizabeth the next turn. "Would you take the next turn? My marker appears to be lost." He scrabbled in the dirt for it, and had already found it even before Elizabeth had started hopping. Still, he sat down and pretended to be looking for it. When Elizabeth was finished he stopped his charade, and took his turn, passing the afternoon quite agreeably.

* * *

At the end of the game, it was the surer-footed Elizabeth who had 'initialed' the most squares, and so she won. William laughingly presented her with his forfeit: his beautiful marker. Elizabeth countered with a teasing demand to be put in the tree, but was astonished when her friend actually complied with her request, both roaring with laughter as he set her onto the highest branch he could reach. She pelted him with small blossoms, which he dodged. William mockingly scolded her, then brought her down.

It was getting on to nightfall, and, yawning, Elizabeth bid her friend goodbye before rushing up to her father, being lifted onto his shoulder, and promptly falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Initialed': During research, I read that in an earlier version of hopscotch, or perhaps a common variation, was the 'initialing' of squares. When a player completed a turn (i.e. hopping from 1 to 10, passing over the square with the marker on it) without stepping on a line, falling over, or letting the trailing foot touch the ground, they tossed their retrieved marker at a square, either random or chosen. If it landed properly, without touching the line or bouncing, that square was that player's 'initialed' square. It meant that it was that player's square only, and all other players would have to avoid it for the rest of the game. This version ended with all the squares being initialed.  
> At the end of this particular game, Mr. Bennet had initialed two squares, William had initialed three, and Elizabeth had beaten them both with five.


	3. Of Loss and Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hid two hints to other books completely unrelated to P&P in this narrative! Challenge: who can name which book they come from, and from which series (if necessary)?  
> Please put your answers in the comments!

All too soon, William was whisked away back to Eton, and Elizabeth, despite having spent only a few weeks with him, missed him terribly. Her father even caught her sobbing over her kite once, and when asked what was the matter, she replied that she did not want want to fly her kite because William was not there. Her friendship with Fitzwilliam Darcy blossomed through her letters to him, disguised as letters from her father, that the benevolent George Darcy forwarded to his son. Driven by the compassion and kindness of childhood and fueled by the devotion with which Elizabeth loved her sisters and William loved his own, their relationship could do nothing but prosper.

Elizabeth was seven years old, however, when a tragedy occurred that nearly lost her her dearest friend.

It was during one of the summer weeks they had been given before William had to return to Eton. Elizabeth had seen his face; before he saw her, his face was always somber and sad. However, when he played with her, everything seemed forgotten. Due to her perceptions, she confronted him two days afterwards.

They had been swinging from the tree branch, and were now sitting quite comfortably in the tree, with Elizabeth perched on William's knee, there having been no room for a separate seat.

"William!" she insisted, her hands on her hips in that fashion children use. "Tell me! What is wrong? You are always so sad!" She burrowed under his arm. "And we promised to always tell each other everything!"

William sighed. "Very well. Beth, little friend..." he trailed off, using the nickname he only used when he was very, very, very sad or depressed - or, as he phrased it, 'in the depths of despair'. "Lizzy, my mother is ill. Gravely ill."

Elizabeth looked up at him in shocked sympathy. "Why?" Since she knew that someone being close to her always helped her in times of distress, she snuggled under his arm and traced patterns on his hand, the way Jane always did when she was upset. William was not looking at her, his eyes lost in the depth of the trees. _He seems so much older now_ , Elizabeth mused.

William sighed again, in a somber manner unused to a mere fourteen-year-old. "After Georgiana was born, she was never as strong as she once was... and last winter, she caught a cold that she could not shake off. It has worsened." The sob he choked back was evidence of the devotion many boys hold for their mothers, and which, for this boy, was so much deeper than most boys' because he was so much more reticent, so much more cautious of his feelings. "I fear losing her, Elizabeth," he said hoarsely.

Elizabeth tried to think what it would be like if she lost her father, who was her dearer parent. She tried to imagine a world without him, and with the wave of emotion that rolled over her, she understood her friend's grief at the mere thought of his mother's death. She reached for his other hand and began to trace on it as well. "Then ride the fear, William. Let it control you for a while, then let it recede and enjoy what time you have with your mama before you have to lose her, even if it is not now," she said carefully, looking earnestly into his blue eyes. She was being serious for a seven-year-old.

He laughed sadly and stroked her hair in that peculiar way he had. "When did you become so wise, Lizzy? Very well, I will." Then he did something he had never done before. He drew her close to him, and kissed the top of her head. "But I believe I will enjoy my time with you as well, my friend, before time takes me away from you again. Come on!" He jumped down, his former life returning. "I will race you to that tree and back, and if I cannot beat you, I promise, you can fly my kite all afternoon!"

Somber thoughts left behind in the tree, Elizabeth jumped down and joined her friend in dashing across the park.

* * *

When William was not in his usual place three days later, Elizabeth searched for him, and an hour later found him, in a secluded corner of the park. He was sprawled on the grass, his eyes closed, but the tear tracks down his face and his pink nose confirmed her worst fears. "William!" she cried, flinging herself down beside him. "Has it happened? Oh no!" She dared not voice what 'it' was; she was sensitive to her friend's deep grief, as well as loath to mention the word 'dead'. A child never likes to openly admit that a life can be cruelly ended, and, for many, cut in half.

William opened his eyes. Elizabeth saw that they were still tearful and red-rimmed, and she, abandoning any notion of propriety, took our her handkerchief and cleaned his sticky face. "There," she concluded. "Now you can cry better, and talk to me."

William looked at her gratefully. "How did you ever learn me so quickly, Elizabeth?" He smiled wanly, and his hands clenched as his grief heaved inside him again, and he sat up, buried his face in his arms, and sobbed. Elizabeth sat back-to-back with him, giving him the freedom to exile himself to grief for a moment, and simply trying to give him the comfort of another person's warmth and closeness.

"It did happen, Lizzy,' he said, regaining his composure. "Yesterday, Father and I were attending my mother, when suddenly she simply took Father's hand, looked at him, and she was... gone. Just like that." He hiccuped. "Sorry... I must be a - hic! - awful sight." He continued to hiccup. "I am so sorry!" he cried, ashamed.

Elizabeth, for all her teasing ways, could never tease a person in real distress, and so continued to wipe away his tears, saying determinedly, "You must learn some of my philosophy, William, since I resolve to only look on the past as it gives me pleasure." She dropped onto her knees and stared up at him, her chocolate eyes melting into him. "Never forget your mama, William, never ever _ever_ ," she stated, with all the conviction of a seven-year-old. "Never forget when she read to you, when she took you outside to see her gardens, or when she gave you your new bracelet." She tapped the gold-link bracelet with 'Fitzwilliam' on it on a gold plaque. "Never forget your birthdays and when she would play with you and your father on all your birthdays. Never forget when she introduced you to your sister. Always remember those moments, William!" She smiled a little as her tone switched to teasing. "Or I shall be very displeased with you."

William chuckled a bit, still hiccuping, but with less frequency. "Thank you, Lizzy," he said, doing as he had done three days prior, drawing her into his lap and kissing the top of her head. "I value your advice highly."

"How droll that is!" Elizabeth remarked. "For a boy - a boy! - to trust in the judgement of a little girl half his age! Is it not, Master Darcy?" she inquired. She was successful in her task: he smiled a little. "That is because you have grown so very dear to me, Elizabeth," he said softly, "almost as much as my dear little sister."

Elizabeth smiled much more softly than was her usual wont, and she cuddled him for a second. That was high praise indeed. His sister was the thing he ranked second best in his boyish heart, right after his father. To be third in his estimation touched even a seven-year-old's heart greatly. "After only a year!"

"My little friend," he said. "Seven years might not be enough for one to form a proper acquaintance, let alone a friendship, while seven hours would be enough for some others. The length of a relationship does not matter if it is honest and true."

Elizabeth giggled as she got up and skipped around him. "You have grown very wise as well, Master Darcy."

* * *

Before he left, they had their first gift exchange.

They met in the park as usual, but Elizabeth could tell William was hiding something. She played along, for in reality all she wanted was an opportunity to give him her present for the summer holidays.

After flying their kites, William, who was sprawled on the ground, said, somberly, "Elizabeth, I have something for you."

"What is it?"

William smiled and produced a carefully woven flower crown. Elizabeth was amazed. She had never taught him to make one, and yet she had woven many a crown for him during their weeks in summer. Perhaps he had learned from his mother? The wreath, at any rate, was beautiful. The flowers were the wildflowers of the park, woven cunningly in and out of the branch circle. The leaves were twined around the branches, and the whole thing smelt of fresh sap and dew. He had made it recently, most likely that very morning! "Oh, William, thank you!" she cried, as he set the crown upon her head. "It is beautiful!" She stopped and shyly produced a package. "I have something for you, too."

Elizabeth could tell that her friend was touched; he stooped to her level and placed his hand on her head, his own peculiar brotherly gesture to her and her alone. "Thank you, Lizzy."

She giggled in spite of herself. "But you have not even opened it yet!"'

He smiled, and said seriously, "I do not need to open it to know that it is a gift you have spent time on, Elizabeth, so I thank you. I know you have other things on your mind, like your new little sister and your other friends, so... thank you, for taking a little time for me."

It turned out to be a grass bracelet, woven with a sweet smelling grass that reminded William of fresh hay from Pemberley's stables, as well as as hint of vanilla. In addition, it had two pieces of cotton grass woven into it, so the fluffy seedheads hung from the reed cords that tightened the bracelet. He slipped it on his left wrist and tightened the cords. "Elizabeth... thank you. This is amazing!"

Elizabeth laughed. "But that is not all."

Curious, William peeked into the package again. In the paper nestled a drawing of him, done very well for a seven-year-old. He was dressed in his usual coat and breeches, but in this drawing her wore one of her wreaths around his head and he had a happy expression.

"Lizzy, thank you!" he said. "Thank you."

Elizabeth giggled. "That must be the millionth time you have said that in the past half hour."

"I mean it, Elizabeth Bennet," he insisted.

* * *

That Christmas, Elizabeth Bennet received a very happy surprise in the form of her first real letter from her dearest friend. All the others has been short notes, while this one was a full three pages long.

> Dear Elizabeth,
> 
> I wish I could play with you today. Snow has never looked so inviting, especially since Goergiana is old enough to ride in the sleigh with me and Father. Speaking of Father... sadly, he still has not recovered enough from Mother's death to continue as normal. I find myself having to shoulder some of the duties of the Master of Pemberley, even though I am only the heir. Truly, I feel grown up now... and I like it not at all! I have no free time for myself, no time to spend with my sister, and barely any with my father. My studies at Eton take up most of my time, then I must address the most urgent of Mr. Kirke's letters. Oh, forgive me, Lizzy, I forgot to tell you that Mr. Kirke is the name of our steward. I believe his Christian name is Digory, although for God's sake I can never fathom naming a child _Digory_. Digory Kirke especially - how droll!
> 
> My studies, as I said, take up most of my time, my schoolwork some of the rest, and the duties that I have assumed devour the last bit. It is in a lull today that I take up my pen and write to you. Believe me, I look forward to spending my summer holiday afternoons with you. School is far from boring, what with all the learning I have been doing of late - but sometimes I wish I was back in London with you and Georgie.
> 
> Elizabeth, there are so many stories I have yet to acquaint you with about the boys I meet at Eton. There is, of course, my father's godson, George Wickham, as well as my Fitzwilliam cousins Alex and Richie. There was the funniest incident at luncheon yesterday, between George and Alex. George was running to his table, and tripped near that of Cousin Alex, and his glass of milk ended up giving Alex a rather... milky... shower! Alex was furious, and was determined to challenge 'the cad' on the spot. Luckily Richie and I managed to knock some sense into him before he could call George out. Still, Alex looked as livid as though his sister had been killed. I thought I might die of laughter tonight. I wonder whether or not I have a problem with my social skills and speech.
> 
> I can never converse easily with people I have never met before, and words such as these come more easily to paper than they do to my struggling lips, Lizzy. Is something wrong with me? And when I am playing with Georgie or you everything sharpens and brightens in color, and my hearing is keener and my eyesight is clearer than before.
> 
> I wish, again, that I could see you before my summer holiday, but alas, Eton only allows its students six weeks off a year. How tall will you have grown by summer? I wonder what other accomplishments you will have added to your list, Lizzy, besides flying a kite, tying a diagonal lash, and comforting me.
> 
> I have enclosed my gift to you in this letter. I fear that it will be rather wilted, but there is an additional gift in the cylinder box you have received. I hope you like it. Georgie's governess was unsuccessfully trying to teach her how to make it, until I expressed my interest in making such presents for my dearest family and friends. You, my dear friend, are just that: a friend so dear that I feel you are family already.
> 
> I must get back now; and I will only add, God bless you and Merry Christmas, Elizabeth!
> 
> Your inwardly merry friend,
> 
> _**William** _

Elizabeth curiously opened her envelope to reveal a few small pressed flowers of the wildflower kind she had seen in the park, the kind of flowers he had woven into her crown (which resided in her jewelry box with her most prized possessions). She also opened the cylinder box; it contained a small vial of lavender scent. Thankful that William understood her favor of the flower, she smiled happily at the thought of having such a thoughtful friend.

With the help of her father, Elizabeth succeeded in writing and dispatching a reply to his letter immediately:

> Dear William,
> 
> Thank you for the lavender! You really know me very well; it is my favorite flower, except for those wildflowers you sent me. I recognized them as the same kind you wove into my crown, you sneaky little thing! Although I should probably not call you little, seeing as you are still almost double my height and all arms and legs now, I have no doubt.
> 
> Really? Did many people see it? Alex must have looked very vexed indeed if it could almost kill you with laughter simply thinking about it! You really must play-act it with Richie sometime, or perhaps request Cousin Alex to feign his humiliation and anger. I would like to see it, William.
> 
> George Wickham? That boy? The one you always talk about when we tumble about on the grass? The one who always steals your hat? I do not think I like him, William. Perhaps you should introduce me in person, and then I can judge for certain. I am sorry if this causes you pain, William, but I only think that a boy who repeatedly steals your hat and cravat must be a very naughty one, and must be taken to task harshly.
> 
> It's quite alright; knowing how one's studies can occupy one's mind, I shall not criticize you. But Digory Kirke? That really is a droll name, William, I shall nearly die of laughter when I tell Jane of your letter tonight!
> 
> I must return to my lesson with Papa, who is trying to teach me my sums. I admit, I find them quite intriguing. Am I so abnormal as to like arithmetic when my sisters dislike it so?
> 
> Speaking of abnormal, there is nothing wrong with you, William Darcy! You are merely disparaging yourself (that was my word for the day - what do you think?) too harshly. I want you to know that you are simply very shy and reserved and there is nothing wrong with that! Your senses are heightened because you are having fun, and no, there is absolutely NOTHING wrong with you! A bit rough around the edges, maybe, but, William Darcy, you are a wonderful person and a great friend and an excellent brother! I tell you that if you disagree, when I meet you next summer I will slap some sense into you!
> 
> I wish you could be here. Since your mother's death, Christmas might be a bit painful for you and your father in the familiar surroundings. I wish you could come here for the winter and and celebrate with us - the Bennet family Christmas is at least never quiet, I can tell you that! Neither is it overly boisterous, though I think you would disagree. At any rate, the snow is falling, and I can hear my father singing 'Deck the Halls'. It is his favorite! What Christmas song is yours, William?
> 
> Merry Christmas, William, to you and all your family, Mr. Darcy, Georgiana, the Matlocks, and the formidable Lady Catherine included! But most of all to you, my dearest friend!
> 
> Your merry little friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _

Having written the letter, Elizabeth ran to join her father to hang the decorations on the tree, play with her sisters and the new baby, Lydia, and sing Christmas carols at the top of her lungs until her Mama fondly shrieked that Lizzy was trying her nerves. She felt happy and fulfilled, and wanted for nothing more. Perhaps it was because she had seen both sides of life, of dark and light, and had such a good friend as William and such a good teacher as her father to tell her of life's lessons: of history and arithmetic, of joy and sadness, and of loss and love. When William had lost his mother, there had been loss, but it was Christmas and the birth of the Christ-child, and now it was time for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to note: from what I've read of Eton College in the 1700's, when William was studying there, that Eton College only allowed its students six weeks off a year: three at Christmas (though the boys weren't allowed to go back home) and three in the summer, which is why William is obliged to stay at Eton for Christmas.


	4. Of Men and Women

Letters from the records of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet:

> Twelfth Night  
>  Eton College
> 
> Dear Elizabeth,
> 
> Twelfth Night celebrations were breathtaking to say the least, although they were very quiet. One day I shall have to come to Longbourn with you and experience a Bennet Christmas. Then you must come to Pemberley and discover what a _Darcy_ Christmas is like. Do not worry, I have written to both my father and Georgiana - not that she can read yet, but my father will read it to her - and sent them presents.
> 
> I am so glad you liked your gift, and - you really _are_ a sly little girl to send me a gift without telling me! Yet you know me so well; I shall treasure this penknife and pen for the rest of my life. Also, I think 'Much Ado About Nothing' a great addition to the Darcy library - and to mine. Neither Father nor I had noticed that that was the Shakespeare play we were missing, and we shall be very grateful - indeed, I already am. Tell me, have you seen it yet? If so, tell me how you liked it; if not, then read it! I am sure your father will help you over the more difficult words and phrases. Having read all of Shakespeare, he will no doubt know what the playwright means by his peculiar turns of phrase. Speaking of turns of phrase, ‘disparaging’ is a huge jump for a seven-year-old, Lizzy. Continue to expand your vocabulary, please; I look forward to sparring with you when I return.
> 
> Benedick and Beatrice are the ones to watch for, at any rate; the dialogue between them is such a merry war that I find myself reading it over and over again.
> 
> Excuse me until my next letter, Elizabeth; I have promised to go caroling with Richie and the other boys, and I am surprised to find myself looking forward to it. I dearly love to sing, and our caroling at Pemberley was always the highlight of the Christmas holidays for us, especially Christmas Eve, Christmas itself, and Twelfth Night. Tomorrow, the thirteenth night from Christmas, is the day of Epiphany and Twelfth Day. Tonight is when the Magi visited the Christ-child, and it feels special, because it is such a cool, blissful night and I received all the letters I had been written for Christmas! Father was very expressive, Georgiana was adorable, and you... well, I look forward to receiving more letters from you, if you will continue to write. By the way, my favorite Christmas carol is ''God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen'. I really am merry this Christmas, though some people say it does not show. But you especially are one of the people I can say help me rest merry, my faithful friend. 
> 
> I realize that the nature of this letter is very rambling, and it must be hard for you to read my tight cursive. I really must get my nose out of my books and find something that would interest you. A drawing of the view outside my window, perhaps? The ice on the branches is really very beautiful, even at night. My sketching skills are not nearly at the level of yours, but I shall try. I shall also ask Richie to draw it in color. His drawings, I must say, are an example for me.
> 
> Your bookish friend,
> 
> _**William** _
> 
> January 8  
>  Longbourn, Hertfordshire
> 
> Dear William,
> 
> Twelfth Night passed very agreeably, thank you. Papa says he may take me to see 'Much Ado About Nothing' sometime this January! Does it end happily? I know my father says so, but he clearly enjoys the play very much, and when he enjoys something and wants me to share in it, he will bend the truth. I do so hate sad endings; it makes me feel so unsatisfied.
> 
> We have a copy, though, and I must say I enjoy the dialogue very much! Papa read as Benedick and all the male parts, and I took on most of the female parts, with Jane to act as Hero. We have not reached the end yet, but we will in another week or two!
> 
> By the way, Lydia spoke for the first time today! I thought Mama would go out of her mind with joy when Lydia squealed, "Twee!" at the Christmas tree. She is not a year old, and is already following her older sisters! I must inform you, William, that we all had at least ten words in our vocabulary by age one! We all gave her a special treat by singing her favorite song: 'Jingle Bells" all together. I have never felt so loved, William, than with Jane and Kitty on either side of me, Papa bouncing me on his knee, Mama cooing with delight, Lydia beaming like the sun, Mary singing like a songbird, and you sending me the longest letters you can! Christmas would truly be complete for me when you come to Longbourn for Christmas!
> 
> Your hopeful little friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _
> 
> January 13  
>  Eton College
> 
> Dear Elizabeth,
> 
> Thank you for your last letter. It is comforting to know that some person cares about me in this swirl of studying and sleeping. I feel like demands are being heaped upon my back, weighing me down. In fact, Richie asked me if I had been slouching so much lately. I had not realized that I was stooping so low… I simply felt so weary lately. Your letters bring light to my dreary life here at Eton; thank you. I only have to see your handwriting on a piece of paper and I smile.
> 
> Examinations are looming over me, and I study as hard as I can, and I love learning… but even I feel worn down by all the stress and demands upon my time recently. Father is withdrawing deeper and deeper into his shell, and there is nothing I can do about it. Georgie is always depressed now, and it is taking a toll on me. I try not to complain, but I must vent my feelings somewhere, and you are always so understanding, my little friend.
> 
> But I am not trying to use you as a vent for all my personal problems. Indeed, I treasure our friendship more than ever.
> 
> Unfortunately, this is the last letter I will be able to write for quite some time. Until summer, then, perhaps? Please bring your kite, Lizzy!
> 
> Your exhausted friend,
> 
> _**William** _
> 
> April 7  
>  Longbourn, Hertfordshire
> 
> Dear William,
> 
> Happy birthday!
> 
> I hope you are not too miserable at Eton. After all, you will still have to go to university, will you not? Complaining of school now will not help you later. There, now I have got the scolding out of the way; it is time for the rest.
> 
> You are fifteen now. I can hardly believe that we are so near adulthood: it is only three years from now that you will reach eighteen and begin attending more social functions. Please do not let your high status and rank come between your friends and you. If only people will look, there is no great difference between the aristocracy and the tradesmen, or the tenants and the gentry. Do not be offended, William, but I believe that all people are equal. You and I, your father and mine, and my sister and yours. Never think yourself more than someone else. I have seen what comes of it: contempt, distance, and animosity. I would dread it if you ever became one of those people and shun me!
> 
> Lydia is walking – well, actually, _running_ – everywhere, and Mama complains that she will go out of her mind with nerves. I agree with her, Lydia is so high-spirited and lively that she is easily getting into scrapes, and I am at my wits’ end whenever I am asked to watch her. William, what am I to do? Jane fondly reminds me that I act so old-ladylike around Lydia that she may start thinking I _am_ an old lady!
> 
> Mary has started the pianoforte, and the tunes she bangs out on the keys are jarring to hear, not to mention mournful in sound! I am no pianist, but I know that when one hits random keys, one hits minor chords or discordant notes more often than not! Please advise me if you can, for I am driven to distraction! I am sorry for being so serious, but all my wit sounds so bland on paper. Or, rather, looks bland.
> 
> Papa has sealed up my kite; you know I never like to fly it unless you are there. I wish it was May already! Then you would be here and we could fly our kites and run all afternoon!
> 
> Your troubled friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _
> 
> April 12  
>  Eton College
> 
> Dear Elizabeth,
> 
> Thank you ever so much for your present! You cunning little lass, letting me believe you had somehow lessened your regard for me, then giving me such a present! I must say, your sketching skills are certainly improving. Perhaps I should ask your father to engage a master for your instruction; if it is beyond his means, then _I_ will.
> 
> Indeed, it is only three years before I must become Mr. Darcy in earnest. Do not worry, Lizzy, you will always be my dear Elizabeth, and I will always be only William to you. And no, my friend – for I cannot in truthfulness call you ‘little’ anymore – I will never willingly and consciously shun you. Unknowingly, most reluctantly, yes, but never of my own free will and with my eyes open.
> 
> As for Lydia, simply engage her in interesting games like we play: chase, hopscotch, skipping-rope, kite-flying, and so on. That way you know where she is, and she is occupied and not squirming. Georgie was not like this, but _I_ certainly was! I asked my father about a hypothetical situation like this, and he laughed and said that to keep a squirming child occupied, tire them out. I asked him how he knew this, and he pointed out that I had been such a squirming child during my youngest years.
> 
> Mary will simply outgrow the banging stage. Georgie herself is in that state, and my father complains that he can hardly have a moment of peace in the house, what with all the business to be finalized, my upcoming holiday, and Georgiana banging the life out of Mother’s pianoforte. I wonder why he would say such to me, me being in that state myself so as to be utterly unsympathetic. I cannot take his whining much longer, Beth. I am not even half his age, and I have gone for two years under this stress without whining to him about my problems. Although I must admit my actual confidante is superior to my father in many ways.
> 
> I cannot pretend to understand how you feel, Elizabeth, but feel free to confide in me all your hopes, dreams, despairs, and fears, just as I have with mine. I am always open to you, and I will try not to shut you out. Georgiana may be my sister, but I can never confide in her the way I do you.
> 
> There is something I must tell you, Elizabeth. We are growing up; you are almost eight now, and I am fifteen. Soon we will no longer be able to spend so many afternoons simply doing nothing. However much I would like to spend time with you – and believe me, I like it immensely – I am almost a man now, and, though young, you have the concerns of a woman. All that is left is for you to start fending off suitors, is it not?
> 
> The world’s cares and concerns aside, I would jump at the chance to spend an afternoon flying my kite with you.
> 
> Your grown-up friend,
> 
> _**William** _
> 
> * * *
> 
> May 21  
>  Longbourn, Hertfordshire
> 
> Dear William,
> 
> Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, for your birthday gift! The puppy is _so_ adorable, and I have chosen to name her Victoria. What do you think? Thank you so much!
> 
> Although you have done so much for me – advising Papa on my drawing master (here is a sketch I have made recently, just for you), playing with me throughout the summer, writing letters to me, and sending me Victoria – I am still somewhat disappointed that you did not send me a letter. I understand if you do not have the time, but you are so important to me that it hurts all the same. I am sorry, but I can no more help it than I can help breathing!
> 
> Oh, William, I miss summer. You always seem so carefree around me, so boyish and happy. I want you to remain that way. Not ignorant of your duties, not undutiful, but content and willing to enjoy the time you have.
> 
> Remember what I said once about spending time with your mama before she passed away? William, I reiterate it. Not that either one of us is likely to die soon, but that I do not want our friendship to wane away to nothing like most friendships stretched over long distances do.
> 
> William, do not let yourself get caught up in the mundane cares of the wealthy world. That is my warning, my dearest friend. Please.
> 
> Your worried friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _
> 
> * * *
> 
> December 23  
>  Longbourn, Hertfordshire
> 
> Dear William,
> 
> Merry Christmas! It shall be Christmas by the time you receive this, so Merry Christmas, William!
> 
> William, what is wrong? You are so pensive all the time, and you never write me anymore! Is it something with your new friend Charles? Is it your cousins, or aunts, or uncle? You promised to confide in me, and I in you, but now, all I can think of is how sad you look all the time. From the looks of it, someone will die soon, and I want to know who it is!
> 
> I do not want to sound curious or prying, but I am concerned about you, William! You are so pale nowadays, and you eat hardly anything. You sleep half the time and stare listlessly for the rest. Please, please, talk to me! I want to help you. William, you have not written me since I was eight years old, and now I am twelve and a half!
> 
> Your nearly frantic friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _
> 
> * * *
> 
> March 27  
>  Longbourn, Hertfordshire
> 
> Dear William,
> 
> _Please_. Come back to me. You are becoming your father all over again. You are retreating into your shell, and you will let no one see you. Please, William, let me in. I am so afraid that you will go completely in, shut everyone down, and never come back out. Please, don’t do that, _please!_
> 
> Your sincerely frantic friend,
> 
> _**Elizabeth** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by no means the full extent of their letters. I just included the most important or meaningful ones, because if I included all the letters William and Lizzy wrote to each other over the stretch of years, there'd be like a hundred letters - maybe more!


	5. Somewhere Along In the Bitterness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to all of those wonderful people who left me kudos, whoever you are, as well as thanks to zenmax09, piromanija, and hiddenagent! EJ06 is already thanked, but please go check out the work that inspired this one!

Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her throat as she approached the park. William’s missive had been short, direct, and troubling:

> Dear Elizabeth
> 
> Please come to the park next week. I have something to tell you, my dearest friend.
> 
> _**William** _

She rounded the corner and pushed open the gate. In spite of – or perhaps because of – her worry, she was very curious. William had not written her in six years, since she was eight years old, and she was now fourteen. Elizabeth was almost out of her mind with concern when she thought about William – and she thought about him very much these days. His face was more sallow and much paler, and his proud shoulders were bowed. He now seemed much older than simply one-and-twenty.

He was sitting in their usual rendezvous point: the tree. William was dressed in all blue except for his shirt, cravat, and breeches, and it was a very dark, somber blue, bringing out his sallow face even more. Elizabeth climbed up beside him and sat next to him, smoothing down her green frock.

William did not seem to notice her. His cerulean blue eyes were clouded and half-closed. His features were too pale. His gaze was fixed on the ground, lazily and gloomily.

Elizabeth touched his arm. “William?”

He raised his tired eyes to her, and his face instantly brightened. “Elizabeth!” He raised his hand, but jerked it back. “You actually came.”

“Of course I came, you silly boy!” Elizabeth slapped his arm. “Did you think I would not? _Of course_ I would! Looking the way you do, I can feel nothing but concern for you whenever I see you!”

William sighed. “I thought you would not come because I was being the exact opposite of what I promised to be. I promised to confide in you, and it has been six years since I even wrote to you. I feel so guilty.”

“Spit it out, William,” Elizabeth said bluntly. “You have been a recluse for six years, and now it is my turn to yank you out of your shell.” She seized his cold face and made him look at her. “You will not become your father. You will never become your father, if I can help it!”

William smiled, but there was a sad pucker to his eyebrows. “That’s my bold Elizabeth.” He shifted out of her grip and said, “I did not write to you because I was very busy. It was only at the end of the day that I realized that I had not written. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” Elizabeth said briskly. “Now, I need you to tell me everything.”

William sighed again. “My father fell ill not long after my last letter to you, and in and out of illness after that. I had to shoulder more and more of the Master’s duties. My days have been so full that I only realized at the end of them that I had not written to you. I have never been as glad of your stubbornness as now, my little friend. Thank you for persisting,” he finished, leaning down and kissing the top of her head as he had when she was a little girl of seven. Elizabeth had missed his touch so much that when he pulled away, she snuggled close to him as she had when a girl of nine. “I missed you so much, William,” Elizabeth said, her voice as soft as possible without whispering.

“As I missed you, Beth,” he said softly, his eyes half-closed again. The somber air fell on them, enveloping them, so that Elizabeth felt as gloomy as William must be feeling. He did not sit as stiffly as he used to do; instead, his body burned hot under his clothes even while his fingers and face were freezing. Elizabeth wondered what could disturb him so much.

“What is bothering you, William?”

“I cannot tell you; it would excite your pity and compassion, and I would not wish for you to do something out of compassion for me.” William straightened. “I have brought my dagger and my new marker, and the sand. Would you like to play?”

Gloominess forgotten, Elizabeth jumped down and pulled her friend down. “Yes! Where is it?”

* * *

Four games followed, with each of the two winning two games. William, laughing, flung himself down on the grass, saying, breathlessly, “Lizzy, Lizzy, stop! You know how ticklish I am! _STOP!_ ” he screamed helplessly, but laughing. He vaulted to his feet and began to chase her through the secluded area of the park that held so many memories for them, both roaring with laughter the whole time.

Elizabeth snatched William’s forgotten hat from the tree and dangled it in front of his face. “Tsk, tsk, Master Darcy!” she teased. “Running and chasing like a child! What would your father say?”

William, now flushed with exercise, panted out, “He… would… approve of… his stodgy… son… running a bit…”

“La!” Elizabeth plopped his hat on his head; she could just reach it from the tree. “You? Stodgy? Preposterous!” She slid down from the tree and seized his shoulders in an iron grip. “William Darcy, who fed you that nonsense?” It took him a moment to realize that she was not joking, and he said, seriously, “I did.”

Elizabeth shook him. “How did you think of that? You are most certainly not dull!”

“Compared to you, I am,” he said. “You are so lively and outgoing, and witty. It all comes naturally to you. My social skills are becoming more and more of a problem. I know my own abilities, but in this new situation, I am so afraid. All my shortcomings are brought into focus by my responsibilities.”

He leaned against the tree. “I support so many people, but I need someone to lean on as well. No matter what people think, I am a person, and I have as much emotion as everyone. My stony mask does not deceive you, Beth, and I am so glad it does not.” He impulsively leaned forward and put his forehead on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “My dearest friend.”

For the past few years Elizabeth had confided in her friend about her emotions, her anger, and all her insecurities. To be his support felt… very good. She reached up and stroked his dark hair as though he was still a weary, stressed boy of sixteen.

To her astonishment, something began to soak her shoulder. A shaking breath came from her friend, and she realized that William was crying. Her shoulder quickly dampened as a dam seemed to break inside the formal Master Darcy, and he receded back to the familiar William. The suffering and stress leaked out of the boy through his tears into Elizabeth, and she took it from him and released it to the skies.

After some time, he straightened, his eyes red. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth smiled happily up at him. “At long last you are back to life.”

William smiled back. “Thanks to you.” He paused a bit. “I apologize for your dress. I might have ruined it.”

“That’s quite alright, William, as long as we are best friends again.”

Elizabeth thought his face would split from his huge grin. “Best friends again.” He frowned thoughtfully. “You smell like lavender.”

* * *

Elizabeth threw down his hat. “We really must stop playing like children. I am sixteen and almost out now, and you are three-and-twenty and a man!”

William laughed merrily as he jammed on his hat. “At least it takes our minds off of our mundane cares, correct?” His face fell. “It takes my mind off of my father’s illness. Lizzy, the doctors do not think he can live another twelvemonth. I feel so helpless… you know how I feel.” His mood seemed to have shifted so completely that it seemed he had been always sad and somber. He looked up at her sadly. “I have already lost my mother, must I now lose my father? I am barely a man, and now I must be orphaned. But it is not I for whom I fear.” He leaned against the tree trunk, hiding his face in his arm. “Georgiana is but eleven years old, and she has never known her mother. Must she lose her father as well? I am her brother, but I will have to act as both her mother and her father. Will I do it well enough? I cannot say.”

“You will be wonderful, William.”

“I do not know, Elizabeth, I do not know.” He raised his weary face. “I am so afraid, my dearest friend, so afraid.”

* * *

After that, there were no more park meetings, no more letters from William. Elizabeth thought his father must have died, and he must have space, so she gave him space. But a year passed, and no communication from William came. Once, on a visit to her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, she passed him in the streets of London, but he was cold and distant, no more the William she knew than any other man on the street. His greeting was proper and formal, not at all like his warm hugs whenever they met at the park. Nothing like the welcoming smile he had always given her graced his stiff features.

But there had been something in his eyes, something raw and guilty, that made her want to hug him again, to ask him what the matter was. As he handed her back up into the carriage, his hand was icy cold, but his eyes flashed with something like loss and regret.

So, on October 15, Elizabeth was determined to find out the matter. She convinced her Uncle Gardiner to come with her to Grosvenor Square, since William was, by now, graduated from Cambridge. She found Darcy House and her uncle sent up his calling card.

Surprisingly, the servant ushered them into the parlor, and William himself emerged. He looked ill-prepared to receive visitors, so why had he received her and her uncle? Elizabeth would have understood if he was not home to visitors that day.

She stood. “Mr. Darcy, I would like to speak with you. Alone,” she added. William looked confused, but agreed, and led her up to his much cluttered study, uncharacteristic of the fastidious William.

She turned to him. “William, what is wrong? You are so cold, and we never meet at the park anymore!”

He sat at his desk and took a deep breath. “You would not understand,” he said gently.

Her temper flared. How could he insult her understanding – _he_ , who had so encouraged her to read and learn? “What would I not understand, Mr. Darcy?” she demanded. “Would I not understand your business requires your full attention? Would I not understand that your sister is but a child and must still be brought up? All of these I can understand – or are you merely insulting my intelligence?!”

He looked shocked. “I would never do that! This matter is of a personal nature, and I do not think you would understand this particular concern of mine!”

“I apologize, sir, if my simple country mind cannot measure up to your sophisticated standards,” she replied acidly. “After all, what is simple Miss Elizabeth Bennet to the illustrious Mr. Darcy?”

William struggled to his feet, desperation raging in his face and his shaking hands. “No! I never meant to imply that – I only meant that – that –” For the first time since she had met him, William was quite lost for words.

“How can you be so arrogant, William? How can you act so coldly to me when all can see us, yet allow our friendship free rein where none can intrude? Are you ashamed of me?”

“No! No!” William cried, his voice cracking. “I would _never_ be ashamed of you! I only meant to protect you!”

“And you thought shunning me is protecting me? You, sir, are sadly mistaken!”

To see her using the same words to describe his actions as the words she used to warn him against them in the first place clearly wounded him. The sunlight glinting in his blue eyes looked like shards of broken glass.

“You have built walls of pride and arrogance, sir, thinking that I am a child to be protected!” Elizabeth’s fury at William’s coddling only grew, burning in her veins and her ears with white-hot certainty. Her knuckles cracked as she clenched her fists until the knuckles turned white. “You think your understanding so superior to my own that you did not even consult with me! After all this interest in my education, it is only because you are ashamed of having such a stupid friend!”

“How can you hurt me so?” he whispered. “I took interest in your education because you deserved to be the best you could be.”

“And you are implying that I could not have been the best I could be if you had not interfered! Worse and worse, sir!”

“If you would stop interrupting me and listen!” he finally shouted, his hurt turning to anger.

“Am I an errant child that you should speak to me of listening? You are seven years my senior – that does not mean you can dictate my actions, particularly since you are only my friend and not my father! You overstep your bounds in your arrogance, Mr. Darcy!”

“Trying to help my dearest friend is arrogance, is it?” he thundered, the glass in his eyes shining as the shards fell in his tears. “Because I am not connected you by blood, my care for you is arrogance and overstepping my bounds?” His voice cracked and broke even as he yelled.

“Simply because you act as father to your sister does not mean you can do the same to me, Darcy!” she screamed at him, using only his last name for the first time since they had met. Hot, angry tears trickled down her cheeks, which she dashed away furiously. Overcome by rage and fury, she stamped her foot like she had not done since she was ten years old.

Something else broke inside him, and his hot anger evaporated, leaving behind a cold mask. “I believe we are finished here, Miss Elizabeth,” he said coldly, volumes of hurt disguised in that tone.

“It appears we are, Mr. Darcy,” she said, her anger just barely reined in as she wiped her eyes and schooled her features.

He rang for a footman, who appeared not long after, although it seemed forever to the young man and woman. “Andrews, show Miss Bennet and Mr. Gardiner to the door, please.” As a last goodbye, he walked over to her, took her feverishly burning hand in his icy cold one, and kissed it. “Farewell, Miss Bennet.” As he straightened, he whispered, “I am not the same anymore.”

Elizabeth’s anger faded at the raw hurt in his eyes, but her reply was an equally cold “Farewell, Mr. Darcy.” Then she turned and walked away.

As soon as Fitzwilliam Darcy heard the door close behind Elizabeth and her uncle, he tore out of his study, through the house, and to the wilderness in the garden that looked so much like that secluded area in the park. Here, he flung himself down on the grass, curled up into a ball, and wept as though his heart would break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from a song ('How To Save A Life') by The Fray. I was listening to the nightcore version while I wrote this chapter, which helped me get out all the emotion.  
> Another note: the reason that they're being slightly closer than propriety would allow is because in the park, there is a secluded area where Elizabeth would be able to climb the trees without inviting inspection. This is where Elizabeth and William meet when they come to the park. In the study scene, Mr. Gardiner is outside the door, eavesdropping, to make sure they aren't doing anything improper.


	6. Of Assemblies and Awkwardness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the answers to the Challenge in Chapter 4:  
> 'in the depths of despair': This is quoted from 'Anne of Green Gables' by L. M. Montgomery. This is Anne's expression for when she's sad or disappointed.  
> Digory Kirke: This is the name of a character from 'The Magician's Nephew', Book 1 of 'The Chronicles of Narnia' by C. S. Lewis. This is the name of the title character. Digory Kirke is the magician's nephew in the story, and later grows up to be old Professor Kirke in 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe'.  
> Also, thank you and a shoutout to zenmax09 (again), dotdotdot, Londonparisnz, stranger12, The_Finale_Hope and all the anonymous people who left kudos!

October 15 had been Elizabeth’s least favorite day of the year ever since that October 15 when she quarreled with her best friend and never heard from him again. That day always made her miserable, and tonight was no exception. It had been four years since that quarrel, and she still regretted it as sharply as she always had, and missed William as much as ever.

But tonight, she hoped, she could forget that for a few hours, since tonight was a Meryton Assembly, and the new tenant of Netherfield Park and his party were attending. Mr. Bingley and his company were sure to be there, Elizabeth had heard from Charlotte, who was her best friend now. Not that Charlotte could ever really replace William, but Charlotte was very dear in her own right.

There were to be six ladies and seven gentlemen in the Netherfield party, and Elizabeth looked forward to making their acquaintance. She stared out of the carriage window at the Meryton Assembly Hall, with its small grounds, near Lucas Lodge. The wilderness there, near the drive, looked much like that area in the park where she and William used to play.

Elizabeth groaned softly, easily unheard in the noisy Bennet carriage. Lydia and Kitty were quarreling loudly about the other crushing her ribbons. Mary was silent, looking stoically out of the opposite window, with Jane between her and Elizabeth, trying to placate the noisy youngest girls. Mrs. Bennet was fussing loudly opposite Mary, her shrill voice grating on Elizabeth’s ears. Elizabeth groaned again. On this day, why could she never escape thoughts of William? Or on other days, for that matter.

Her kite was always too painful to fly, and so she had shut it up, unable to look at it without calling to mind the memories of all the hours she and William had spent flying their kites. Her dog, Victoria, had always reminded her of all the playful chasing she and William had done. Victoria was an adorable thing, and had always inspired nostalgia, not regret, unlike all the rest of William’s gifts, which had been the same way as her kite, shut away because of the memories they inspired of their giver. And she could never think of those without pain. She always regretted shouting at him, thinking of the obvious pain in his eyes.

The carriage stopped in front of the Hall, and Elizabeth, the first to come down, excused herself to Jane and ran away to the wilderness to calm her thoughts.

William had been deserving of the quarrel, Elizabeth had decided, but not of her shouting. That part had been childish and juvenile, and she had written to him to ask forgiveness, but no more. There had been no reply, either. The thought that William had never forgiven her pained her, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes.

She had just schooled her mind into a more acceptable frame for a Meryton assembly when another carriage drew up to the drive. The obvious luxury and the unfamiliar crest on the side meant it probably belonged to the Netherfield party.

The door opened, and she watched curiously as a tall dark-haired gentleman stepped down. He was facing away from her, and his hat obscured most of his hair. His coat was green, a becoming shade of emerald green. He said something to the footman, then a ginger-haired, jolly gentleman stepped down. His light blue coat was a well-made one, and Elizabeth guessed that this was Mr. Bingley, since he wore the same shade of coat as the gentleman who had called on her father.

“…you know how uncomfortable I am in society, Charles,” the dark-haired gentleman was saying to his friend. The ginger-haired man smiled as he helped a lady who could only be his sister down. He clapped the dark-haired man’s shoulder. “It will be alright. After all, you did say you thought your childhood friend would be here. Go ahead, man, I think you are allowed to look for a friend!”

Childhood friend? Elizabeth was confused. _Who is he talking about?_

The dark-haired man sighed. “Alright, Charles, you, the Hursts, and Miss Bingley go on ahead. I must take a stroll in the garden first to calm my thoughts.”

Panic began to take hold of Elizabeth as the dark-haired man passed behind the hedge that separated the wilderness from the rest of the grounds. His steady gait was clearly audible outside, and the silence was eerie except for the merry laughter and music coming from the Assembly Hall, which suddenly seemed miles and miles away.

Just as Elizabeth thought it would be a good idea to leave, the dark-haired gentleman rounded the corner into the wilderness, and she turned to meet his eyes. _His_ eyes. They were cerulean blue with a golden ring around the irises, with long, thick lashes, turning in to a familiar aquiline nose. She _knew_ those eyes.

The gentleman started, and an incredible joy grew in those cerulean eyes. A boyish grin flashed his white teeth. “Elizabeth!” he cried.

“William!”

Even with the apprehension she saw in the tension of his shoulders, there was clearly joy there as well. Joy… at _seeing her?_ But had he really forgiven her those stupid insults? All doubts were dissipated, however, when William started to edge closer.

Suddenly they were no more than a foot apart, and she was wrapped in William’s warm arms again. She hugged him as tightly as that first summer, the last day before he returned to Eton. William pulled back, and, since he could not reach the top of her head so easily anymore, he kissed her forehead. “I am so sorry, Elizabeth, my dearest friend.”

“I am sorry too. We were both at fault, William.” She looked up at him. “Why are you not angry at me? In fact, what made you come here at all? We quarreled when we saw each other last, and I did not hear from you again, even when I wrote to you.”

William smiled. “I could never stay angry at you for long, my friend. I had forgiven you long before your letter arrived, since you had taught me my lesson. I did not write to you because I did not know if you truly wanted to hear from me. You were so angry when you left that I felt that you might well never want to hear from me again.”

Elizabeth looked affronted. “How could you think that? Every anniversary of that quarrel, I feel horrible because I thought that you could not forgive me. I still did this evening, you know.”

He kissed her forehead again. “Then I apologize. You know I would not knowingly cause you pain – or willingly. Believe me, October 15 has always tortured me as well. Besides, Lizzy, I am no mind-reader, no matter how well I can read your expressions! You must confide in me like you did before, and I will confide in you, no reservations. May we? I understand that there might be some awkwardness, but it was much worse when there was no communication at all! Does our friendship stand the chance of becoming what it once was?”

Elizabeth laughed and pinched his arm. “Of course it does!”

William looked at her gratefully. “As for your other question, I came here to help my friend, Charles Bingley, settle in to being master of an estate, even if it is only a lease. He must have practice before he purchases his actual estate.” He hesitated for a moment, looking down at his cravat, and added, “Although, if the truth must be told, I jumped at the chance – and the excuse – to see you again. I have no doubt you heard Charles tell me that I might have leave to look for you.” He paused again, and said, “And what of you, Elizabeth? Are you glad to see me?”

“More than I can say,” Elizabeth answered, smiling. It really was very good to see him again, although he was older than last time. He was seven-and-twenty now, and to a best friend’s partial eyes, he looked more charming and handsome than ever.

“That gives me more joy than you can ever know,” he murmured against her forehead. He pulled back and offered her his arm, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Shall we?”

They walked into the Assembly Hall.

* * *

But they had forgotten Elizabeth’s family and her family’s friends. As she walked into the hall on Mr. Darcy’s arm, it quite understandably caused a stir. And when he asked her to dance, it created an even larger one, especially since Mr. Bingley asked Jane to dance as well. Luckily, Mrs. Bennet was too busy chattering about Jane and Mr. Bingley to notice the more discreet Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.

“Would you like me to introduce you to Miss Charlotte Lucas, my closest friend here?” Elizabeth asked, as the dance finished and she and William were returning to the tables.

“Here?” William raised an eyebrow.

“I mean that you are my closest friend, William. Charlotte has only been my friend for four years, while you have been my friend – and confidant – for fourteen.” She smirked. “Or are you trying to fish for compliments, sir? For shame, William!”

He laughed. “Fishing for compliments was the last thing on my mind, I assure you – but yes, I would like to meet Miss Lucas. Any friend you would like to introduce me to I would probably like.”

Elizabeth scanned the crowd for her friend and waved to Charlotte, who was sitting out the dance a few feet away. “Come on,” she said playfully, yanking William in the direction of Charlotte. “Charlotte!” she greeted her friend. “This is Mr. Darcy.”

William bowed with a small smile on his face. “Elizabeth tells me you are good friends.”

“Elizabeth?” Charlotte looked dismayed. “Lizzy, why is Mr. Darcy calling you by your Christian name when you have only been acquainted for an evening?” She looked alarmed, and brushed a chestnut brown curl out of her light hazel eyes. Both William and Elizabeth looked embarrassed. “Charlotte, can you keep this a secret? Please?”

“Very well, Lizzy; what is it?” Charlotte mentally prepared herself to be surprised.

“Do you remember when I told you about my best friend William, who gave me Victoria?”

“Yes.” Charlotte nodded. “But I fail to see how that connects to Mr. Darcy!”

“Spit it out, Lizzy, before I do it,” William threatened mockingly. Elizabeth smirked at him and slapped his arm before saying, “William is Mr. Darcy. We were very close friends, especially while he was at Eton, but we had a very… explosive quarrel five years ago, and we have heard nothing from each other since.”

Charlotte was clearly shocked. “However did that happen? – No, first, however did you two become friends in the first place?”

“By crashing into each other, unfortunately,” William answered. “I was flying my kite, and I did not see where I was going. Since Elizabeth was kind enough to untangle my hands from the kite string, I let her fly my kite. I went to my favorite park, where Elizabeth found me, and we arranged to meet again there the next day. The rest is history.”

“Tell no one, please, Charlotte, especially not your mother or Maria,” Elizabeth begged. “The news would be around Meryton in no time.”

“I promise, Lizzy,” Charlotte replied.

William turned to Charlotte. “Thank you, Miss Lucas.” A frown puckered his eyebrows as he asked, “Why are there so few gentlemen this evening?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Who knows, William? Perhaps you should ask that of Nature!”

“Meanwhile,” William concluded, “I will try and make the evening more enjoyable for those ladies who must sit down.” He bowed to Charlotte, and said, “Miss Lucas, may I have the next dance? If you are unengaged for that particular set, of course.”

Charlotte agreed, and Elizabeth winked at William in gratitude as he led her friend away. He nodded back.

When he had finished his dance with Charlotte, he returned to Elizabeth and asked her to dance, frowning. “Elizabeth, how did my income come to be known here? I never said anything of the sort!” He was still frowning when he led her to the dance floor.

“I have no idea, William. Even I do not know that information! Perhaps it was Sir William Lucas; did he not meet you and Mr. Bingley when Mr. Bingley first took possession of Netherfield?”

“Yes, he did, but then, so did your father.” William’s lips twitched into a smile. “His dry wit is much like his daughter’s; I think we shall get along well.”

“You flatter me, but Papa’s wit is much sharper than mine and more often at the expense of others.”

“At any rate, do you think it was Sir William Lucas?”

“I think it not entirely unlikely.”

“I shall have to ask Miss Lucas for that report. Meanwhile, what say you to meeting me on the border between Longbourn and Netherfield tomorrow morning? And to bringing your kite and Victoria?”

Elizabeth grinned at him. “Thank you, yes, I think I will.”

The dance ended, and William bowed and led her back to her family. To Elizabeth’s astonishment, he asked all of her sisters to dance – even Kitty and Lydia! And he even looked like he enjoyed it! As he returned from his dance with Jane, she hissed at him, “How can you tolerate them?”

He shrugged. “Each of them represents a part of my personality that I have addressed at one point or another. Miss Jane is my reserved side, unable to break out of my shell by myself because I am afraid of being taken advantage of.” He smiled at her. “ _You_ did, however, break me out of my shell.

“Your sister Mary represents my Eton self. Conscientious, introspective, ignorant of society, and a teacher’s pet. Like your sisters Kitty and Lydia, I was once boyish and frivolous, when I was eight or nine. I cared for nothing but fun and pleasure.” William gave her a sidelong glance. “As for you, you are intelligent but witty – although my banter is significantly less friendly. We both delight in the ridiculous and the company of other intelligent people. We also both possess empathy to some extent – I owe mine to you.”

“How could you owe your empathy to me? I cannot connect with my sisters the way you have.” Elizabeth sat down while William leaned on a pillar next to her.

“You once wrote to me in a letter: ‘If only people will look, there is no great difference between the aristocracy and the tradesmen, or the tenants and the gentry,’ did you not? Nor between the wealthy and the working-class people, or the illustrious persons like myself and country gentlemen and ladies like you.”

“I confess that that is also my school of thought on the matter. I never like it when the people I meet in London act like I was an inanimate object like the houses on the streets or the lamp-posts in between them.” Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “For my uncle Gardiner, it is even worse because he is a tradesman.”

William shrugged as he checked his pocket watch. “Most people cannot grasp the fact that though my estate, Pemberley, is very big – no doing of mine, I remind you – I am in reality nothing more than a gentleman farmer. Longbourn as you describe it and Pemberley are only different in size and location.” He looked at the Meryton Assembly. “Oh, by the by, have you seen ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ yet? I remember you writing that you would finish it in ‘a week or two’.” The young man frowned thoughtfully. “That was on January 8, the year you were seven, was it not?”

Elizabeth was amazed. “How can you remember exactly the letter that information was in?”

William feigned surprise. “Was I supposed to forget? You make it sound as if it was a spy communication and I was not supposed to mention it in public.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You are quite welcome to recall every detail of the letters you receive, but I only meant that it was very unusual for a young man to remember a letter written thirteen years ago.”

“But not so unusual to remember a letter from one’s dearest friend,” William countered.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. “It is to remember every single one of them, and you have quoted two perfectly so far.”

“Two is not all the letters you sent, fortunately,” William responded, his face neutral and straight, but his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. “I recall that you sent many more. At least ten a year, once a week at most – and even then they were long.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “So you took note of how many letters I sent you, but did not take the trouble to reply?”

Instantly William’s mood changed. True, the physical changes were subtle: his shoulders stiffened, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the taut lines around his mouth tightened, but it was there nonetheless, evidenced mostly by the vanishing of the sparkle in his eyes. “I apologize for not being able to write, but my studies did take most of my time. The rest was occupied with my new responsibilities. Thankfully, I have settled into my role now.”

“I was not going to ask you again, William; I was only teasing, as you well know!”

“Still, a friend wants reassurance from time to time.” The sparkle returned to his eyes, and they bantered for the rest of the night, William occasionally straying to talk to Charlotte and his friend Charles, as well as Jane, Mary, Sir William Lucas, Mr. Phillips, and a handful of others.

“Oh, Elizabeth?” William said, as he and Mr. Bingley walked out to the drive to bid the Bennets the last goodbye of the night.

“Yes?”

“Please do not forget: tomorrow, the border, your kite, and Victoria.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Good night, William.”

“Good night, Lizzy.” He nodded as she stepped up into the carriage. She winked at him, and got the smile in his eyes in return.

* * *

On returning to Longbourn House they found Mr. Bennet still awake, and with a book. “Hello, Papa, we have returned!” Elizabeth said, knowing the way her father lost himself in books.

“Already, Lizzy? Why, it is past ten already! I had not realized so much time had passed.” However, Mr. Bennet had no time to exclaim over lost time, because Mrs. Bennet took her chance to regale him with her tale of the evening.

“Oh! My dear Mr. Bennet,” she fussed, coming over to where that gentleman sat by the fire, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball – I wish you had been there! Jane was so admired, nothing could be like it! Everybody said how well she looked; and Mr. Bingley himself thought her quite beautiful, and – only think of this, my dear – actually danced with her twice! And she was the only lady in the room that he asked a second time.

"First of all, he asked Miss Lucas – I was so vexed to see him stand up with her! But, however, he did not admire her at all – indeed, nobody can, you know – and he seemed quite struck with Jane as she was going down the dance. So he inquired who she was, and got introduced, and asked her for the two next. Then the two third he danced with Miss King, and the two fourth with Maria Lucas, and the two fifth with Jane again, and the two sixth with Lizzy, and the Boulanger –”

“If he had had any compassion for me,” cried Mr. Bennet, who had unsuccessfully tried to attend to his book, “he would not have danced half so much! For God’s sake, madam, say no more of his partners. Oh, that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance!”

“Oh! My dear, I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women! I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses; I daresay the lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown –”

“No more about lace, Mrs. Bennet!” Mr. Bennet interrupted impatiently. “In fact, I would be much pleased if you desisted from any descriptions of any finery of any sort, thank you!” With that, he withdrew into his book, but his wife was not finished, and related the gossip that had been created because of Elizabeth’s entrance on Mr. Darcy’s arm, and by his staying near her for most of the rest of the evening. Fortunately for his second daughter, none of the Bennets – least of all Mr. Bennet – were attending to the matriarch of that family, and her speech fell on deaf ears as Jane and an embarrassed Lizzy quietly moved upstairs for the night, Mary drowned her mother out with her music, and Kitty and Lydia were talking with excitement about the regiments that were to be quartered in Meryton for the winter.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jane and Elizabeth, closeted in their shared bedroom, were talking of Mr. Bingley as they prepared for bed. Jane, who had been circumspect in her praise of him before, now opened her heart to her dearest sister. “He is just what a young man ought to be,” she remarked quietly, brushing out her golden locks, “sensible, good-humored, lively – and I never saw such happy manners, so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!”’

“He is also handsome,” teased Elizabeth, “which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can – his character is thereby complete!”

Jane blushed, and turned the conversation to the dancing: “I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Did you not?” Elizabeth inquired, her eyes wide open in a charade of innocence. “I did for you. But that is one great difference between us: compliments always take _you_ by surprise, and _me_ never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room – no thanks to his gallantry for that! Well,” she drawled out the word, as though she was pondering the matter, “he certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person, at any rate.”

“Dear Lizzy!” Jane looked scandalized.

Elizabeth gave a little chuckle, and grinned impishly at her sister. “You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes; in fact, I have never heard you speak ill of a human being in your life!”

“I would not wish to be too hasty in censuring anyone, but I always speak what I think.”

"I know you do; and it is _that_ which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! _Affectation_ of candour is common enough—one meets with it everywhere. But to be candid without ostentation or design—to take the good of everybody's character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad— belongs to you and you alone. And so you like this man's sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his!" Elizabeth frowned at the memory of the snobbish Miss Bingley and her shadow, Mrs. Hurst. It reminded her uncomfortably of Lydia and Kitty – only snobbier.

"Certainly not—at first.” Elizabeth inwardly rolled her eyes. “But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother, and keep his house; and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her."

Elizabeth inwardly scoffed at Jane’s second declaration – that they were ‘very pleasing women when you converse with them’. She very much doubted they could please anyone of their own free will, whatever they did. Their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general; and she herself was very little disposed to approve them. They were very fine ladies; good-humoured when they were pleased, agreeable when they chose to be, but proud and conceited. They were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, were in the habit of spending more than they ought, and of associating with people of rank, and were in every respect entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England; a circumstance that they tended to recall more than that their brother's fortune and their own had been acquired by trade.

They were anxious for their brother’s having an estate of his own; but, though he was now only established as a tenant, Miss Bingley was by no means unwilling to preside at his table— nor was Mrs. Hurst, who had married a man of more fashion than fortune. Mr. Bingley had not been of age two years, when he was tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield House. He did look at it, and into it for half-an-hour – was pleased with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately.

“And what of his friend, Mr. Darcy?” Jane asked. “He and Mr. Bingley certainly seem to be very good friends.”

“Indeed, and the saying, ‘Opposites attract’ never held more truth!” Elizabeth said. “Why do you think they are friends, Jane, when they are so contrasting – even in appearances? Why, where Mr. Bingley is fair, Mr. Darcy is dark – except for the skin, I suppose, and Mr. Bingley is sure to be well-liked by everyone everywhere he goes, while Mr. Darcy – oh dear, if he had not talked to me all night I fear he would have given offense to everyone!”

Elizabeth instantly felt guilty about insulting her friend behind his back, and though she was loyal to her judgment and honesty, she was more loyal to her friends and those she loved. “Jane, may I tell you something? It concerns Mr. Darcy, and I must say that it will sway my judgment in his favour rather than away.”

“Of course, dear Lizzy.” Jane smiled at her sister.

“Mr. Darcy and I are very close friends. Jane, do you remember how I begged Papa to let me stay with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner for a few weeks every summer?”

“Of course I do, Lizzy.”

“That was when I would play with him. I would always play fun games with him. He was the William who always sent Papa letters, Jane, but they were really for me.”

Jane looked the most surprised Elizabeth had ever seen her, which was understandable. It was hard to picture William the way he was now as the free, kite-flying boy that first day in the park who did a cartwheel out of sheer enjoyment. “My God, Lizzy! _Mr. Darcy_ gave you Victoria?”

“Yes he did, Jane,” Elizabeth replied, as that same dog bounded into the bedroom and put her paws on her owner’s lap. “And now, Jane, I have finished, and I will to bed. Good night, my dear sister,” Elizabeth said brightly, kissing Jane’s cheek with the tenderness that only sisters have. She rose and lay down on her bed, Victoria jumping on top of her. Elizabeth pondered the friendship of William and – _Charles_ , she had heard William call him, as she absently stroked Victoria.

Between him and William, Elizabeth had observed, there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition was a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he appeared quite satisfied. On the strength of Darcy's regard, Bingley had the best reliance, and of his judgement, the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient – in fact, he was intelligent – but William was clever and quick-witted, unlike his friend.

However, William was very shy to the point of being mistaken for haughty when he was only reserved. In addition, William was very fastidious and not generally inviting to strangers – no, in that respect, Mr. Bingley held the advantage. While Mr. Bingley was welcome wherever he went, and was sure of being well-liked by everyone, Darcy was no favourite – in fact, if he had not demonstrated to all of Meryton that he already knew – and was very comfortable with – Elizabeth, he would have been considered a very disagreeable man indeed.

What she had heard from both of them – during her dances with them – was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all the room; and, as to Miss Bennet, he could not conceive an angel more beautiful. Ass for William, he liked a few people and was rather dismissive of the rest, although he did humour them when he was obliged to.

Elizabeth drifted to sleep to Jane’s peaceful breathing, and wondering what would come of Bingley’s rent of Netherfield.

* * *

And three miles away, in his bedroom at Netherfield, Fitzwilliam Darcy smoothed out the papers on his desk. None of them were urgent; in fact, they were from years past, going back to a Christmas letter,  all signed  _Elizabeth_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long chapter; I was really invested in the emotion, and I used some text from the original, just changed it a little bit. However, if you don't like it, I can easily edit it! Please leave suggestions and remarks in the comments!


	7. Of Friends and Falseness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just to exhibit that William and Elizabeth's friendship is recuperating nicely, and William is... well, I'm sure you know what. Also, to exhibit the growing relationship between Charles and Jane.  
> William and Elizabeth keep their friendship a secret because they both know that it will be misinterpreted, and that the play they engage in would be considered improper. William doesn't want Elizabeth to be compromised, and Elizabeth wants to defend William's reputation.

Elizabeth woke up as the dawn hit her eyelids. She sprang out of bed and into a morning dress. Victoria, annoyed at being woken so early, yapped at her owner even as said owner dressed for a walk. “Come, Vicky, we are to meet William today,” Elizabeth said cheerfully; not even the fury of her dog could dampen her spirits, for it was early morning, and she was going to see her dearest friend. She drew the shed key out of her drawer and skipped merrily down.

Once out of the house, with Victoria close on her heels, she went out to the shed, where she had locked her kite. She dusted down the pink diamond and cleaned the butterfly on the back, and rolled up the reel, which was still surprisingly good. Then she set out for the border.

Elizabeth sat down on a tree root as she watched the Netherfield direction of the hedge, until she saw a tall, dark figure approach, with a kite under his arm and a dog yapping at his heels. Victoria barked loudly at the newcomers, and the other dog – a gentleman’s hound – walked up to her and barked.

“Heel, Trevor!” shouted the gentleman. “Here, boy!” The hound trotted back to his owner, his nose in the air.

“Hello there, Victoria,” the gentleman said, his dark blue coat visible against the sunlight as he stooped and held out his hand. Victoria evidently liked him, as she showed. “Oi!” he shouted, wiping his face. “Elizabeth, your dog is mauling me!” He tumbled backwards on the grass as Victoria knocked him down.

“Here, Vicky!” Elizabeth called, and Victoria came. “William, you did not tell me you would bring your dog as well!”

“I did not bring him,” William answered soberly, a twinkle in his eyes. “The little monster decided to bring himself! Now, I feel a wind, shall we?” They ran, flying their kites, across the field, shouting laughing threats and insults at each other and their dogs, just as they had when they were children.

Elizabeth seized his kite-string while William was looking the other way, gave her reel to Victoria, and ran as fast as she could while he chased her. “You little snake!” he shouted at her, before pulling his old cartwheel trick and yanking his reel out of her hands. “Gotcha!” he cried, and scampered away as she scrambled after him.

William flung himself on the ground, gasping for breath, grinning like a mad hatter. He shoved his sweaty dark hair out of his eyes, which glittered with enjoyment like when he and Elizabeth teased and baited each other. “No! Trevor!” he complained good-naturedly when his hound bounded onto his chest, followed by Elizabeth’s dog. “Not you as well, Victoria!” he groaned.

Elizabeth, who was safe in a tree, called, “Vicky!” Victoria yipped at the tree as William pushed Trevor off of him.

“Trevor, go home!” he ordered, and the hound obediently trotted towards Netherfield. Elizabeth did the same to Victoria, who obeyed. William got up and climbed the tree, sitting down beside Elizabeth. She snuggled into him as she had as a girl, and they looked out at the field.

“I admit that it feels very nice to do as I like,” William confessed. “I can traipse out to the fields at seven in the morning, and no one would mind. There is a good side to being an adult orphan,” he laughed, half in jest.

“Well, I am more fortunate than you, for I can do as I like as long as I am not hurt, and I have _both_ of my parents,” Elizabeth teased. “Papa lets me do as I desire, be it walk out at six in the morning or come in to breakfast with muddy shoes.”

“Muddy shoes, hah,” William said. “I can imagine what your mother says to that.” He widened his eyes and shrilled his voice in an imitation of Elizabeth’s mother. “Lizzy, whatever are you thinking, running about the countryside like some common hoyden? Mr. Bennet, you must punish her immediately! Oh, Lizzy, you take delight in vexing me! How will you ever get a husband? Oh, my poor nerves!” He ended with a sparkle in his eye, if with a bitter twitch to his lips.

Elizabeth laughed. “Actually, you are quite accurate. Mama despairs of my ever becoming ‘a proper lady’.” She rolled her eyes. “She insists that no one will want anything to do with such a wild girl.”

“I would, if nobody else,” William asserted faithfully. “Wild girl or not, Elizabeth Bennet, you are my dearest friend and I would not cut off my ties with you for the world.”

“Thank you for that, William,” she said, bumping his temple with her head. “You really are the most loyal friend ever.” Was it simply her imagination, or did he grow warmer with that comment?

“Perhaps not ever,” he said, referring to their argument and his silence afterwards.

“That was partly my fault, Fitzwilliam Darcy!”

He looked up in surprise. “That is the first time you have ever called me Fitzwilliam. You kept insisting it was too hard to pronounce, and here you go out with it!” Pausing, he added, “Although it does sound very nice.”

“I am twenty, William! It would be unthinkable for me not to pronounce your real name, especially since you have the head start,” she observed, tilting her chin up and grinning.

“Yes it is, is it not?” William looked out at Longbourn, his eyes half-closed in his characteristic brooding manner, sitting like that for over an hour, and Elizabeth was content to sit by him in companionable silence. Suddenly he drew back and kissed her forehead. “You must return now, or you shall be missed.” He checked his pocket watch. “For it is past eleven, and already someone might be at Longbourn a-calling."

* * *

The Lucases were very good friends of the Bennet family – except perhaps Mr. Bennet – so that the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was absolutely necessary; and the morning after the assembly brought the former to Longbourn to hear and to communicate. It was just as Elizabeth came from her walk with William, Victoria, and Trevor, with her kite under her arm that she heard the Lucases were come to call. Immediately, she sought out Charlotte.

The large company broke off into small groups and pairs, although there were no fixed conversation partners. Such it was with the Lucas and Bennet clans; all could talk at once, and to different people, provided it was about whatever topic they had agreed to discuss: this time, the assembly.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet with civil self-command to the eldest Miss Lucas. “You were Mr. Bingley's first choice.”

“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.” Charlotte smiled at Jane, who smiled serenely back.

“Oh! You mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her—indeed I rather believe he did—I heard something about it—but I hardly know what—something about Mr. Robinson.” Mrs. Bennet tried to sound modest, but only achieving a moderate success.

“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson; did not I mention it to you?” Charlotte said amiably to both her friend Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s mother. “Mr. Robinson's asking him how he liked our Meryton assemblies, and whether he did not think there were a great many pretty women in the room, and which he thought the prettiest? – And his answering immediately to the last question: 'Oh! The eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.'“

Thankfully, after that Charlotte steered the conversation away from Mr. Bingley – but, unfortunately, towards Mr. Darcy. “And what of his friend, Mrs. Bennet? There are so many opinions of him that I am confused about what to think of him.” Charlotte winked at Elizabeth. “I hear that some people like him, and that he likes a few of the Meryton townspeople.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Bennet replied airily, fanning herself harder than ever. “He is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune to be liked by him. Mrs. Long told me last night that he sat close to her for half-an-hour without once opening his lips.”

“Are you quite sure, ma'am? - is not there a little mistake?" said Jane, ending her conversation with Maria Lucas. “I certainly saw Mr. Darcy speaking to her.”

“Aye, that he did – but only after he came back from talking with Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet conceded grudgingly. “But there was such a look of disdain on his face – as though he were above our company, and so much better than the rest of the human race!”

“Miss Bingley told me,” Jane replied, “that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With _them_ he is remarkably agreeable.” She flashed a glance at her next youngest sister, and nodded knowingly.

“I do not believe a word of it, my dear, not a word. If he had been so very agreeable, he would have talked to Mrs. Long first. But I can guess how it was; everybody says that he is eat up with pride, and I dare say he had heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had come to the ball in a hack chaise.”

“That was not the case,” Elizabeth protested, unable to endure such censure of her friend. “When he spoke to me, he assured me that he only thought Mrs. Long was very formidable; besides, _I_ do not think he is so very disagreeable. I am inclined to believe his silence was more due to shyness than haughtiness.” She did not mention that she had had to talk very quickly in order to persuade him to talk. William had been literally scared stiff at the very thought.

“At any rate, he danced with all the Bennet and Lucas girls, and I call _that_ agreeable,” Charlotte declared, “for some of us have less sense than others.” She glanced at Kitty, Lydia, and her own sister Maria, who were engaged in a conversation about the officers.

“Another time, Lizzy,” her mother said, “I would not dance with him one set. Let him stew in his own pride, I say.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine a day.”

“Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought,” said Mrs. Bennet; "and if I were to see you at it, I should take away your bottle directly.” The boy protested that she should not; she continued to declare that she would, and the argument ended only with the visit.

* * *

Over the next few days, the Longbourn and Netherfield parties called on each other, and attended the same gatherings. While Mr. Bingley was open to all of the Bennets, and Mr. Darcy, though more withdrawn, expressed the same sentiments, the Bingley sisters dismissed Mrs. Bennet and the three younger Bennet girls.

An intention of getting to know _them_ better was, however, extended to the older two, who received it with different reactions. Jane was pleased, Elizabeth was sceptical. Mr. Bingley also expressed, though non-verbally, a desire to know Jane better, and Elizabeth was satisfied to see that Jane’s feelings were returned, and told Charlotte so, at one of Sir William's parties.

"It may be pleasant," replied Charlotte, "to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him; and it will then be poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a women had better show more affection than she feels. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."

"But she _does_ help him on, as much as her nature will allow. If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton not to discover it too."

"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."

"But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out."

"Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her. But, though Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."

"That is a good plan," replied Elizabeth, "where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married, and if I were determined to get any husband at all, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton; she saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times. This is not enough to make her understand his character."

"Not as you tell it. Had she merely dined with him, she might only have seen whether he had a good appetite; but four evenings have also been spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal."

"Yes; these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce; but about any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."

"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. The people involved always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."

"You make me laugh, Charlotte; but it is not sound. You _know_ it is not sound, and that you would never act in this way yourself." She turned to William, who was standing directly behind her, unobtrusively eavesdropping. “And you, William, what is your opinion on happiness in marriage?”

“That I shall never live to see it if I go on as I do,” he replied, half in jest and half in earnest.

“Oh, William, I meant for Bingley and Jane, you selfish man!” Elizabeth teased.

“Then, drawing on my own observations and your discussion just now – your sister really does care for my friend?”

“As I said, anyone who cannot perceive her partiality to Mr. Bingley must be a simpleton.”

“Based on that, all the world who is not intimately acquainted with Miss Bennet must be a simpleton, Elizabeth. I am of a like disposition as your sister, and yet I cannot perceive any signs of regard. At any rate, if she cares for him as you say she does, then I would be glad to wish them joy soon.”

Charlotte looked triumphantly at her friend. “There now, Eliza, you see, even Mr. Darcy agrees with me.”

Elizabeth smiled good-naturedly. “Then I am outnumbered, and I must advise Mr. Bingley concerning Jane’s regard as soon as possible.”

“That would be my duty, as his friend,” William said, “as well as fending off his sisters. They think Jane Bennet a sweet girl, but they would not look upon a match with their brother as a good one. I daresay my vote in Miss Bennet’s favour would convince Charles to continue his suit.”

However, William did not leave to advise Mr. Bingley; rather, he stayed close to Elizabeth throughout the evening, whether a few feet away or merely a few inches. She noticed this, and brought it to his attention: "Why on earth are you following me, William?”

“I would like to hear your wit when it is directed at others,” he answered bluntly, embarrassed.

She shrugged. “Very well, did you not think, William, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?"

"With great energy; but it is always a subject which makes a lady energetic." William’s eyes had that sparkle that, though Elizabeth did not know it, only kindled for her.

"You are severe on us, William!”

"It will be her turn soon to be teased," said Miss Lucas, joining them. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."

"You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! - always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers," she replied, flicking a glance at the Bingley sisters. On Charlotte's persevering, however, she added, "Very well, if it must be so, it must." And she looked at William with a teasing spark in her eye, and said, “Though, William, I would prefer it if you did not follow me to the pianoforte!”

Her performance was pleasing, though by no means capital. After a song or two, and before she could reply to the entreaties of several that she would sing again, she was eagerly succeeded at the instrument by her sister Mary, who having, in consequence of being the only plain one in the family, worked hard for knowledge and accomplishments, was always impatient for display. No one saw that Mr. Darcy stiffened when Mary all but pushed her sister out of the seat.

Mary was better than her sister in terms of technical skill, but her performance lacked her sister’s emotion and liveliness, and she possessed a finicky air that did not sit well with her audience. At Lydia’s request, she played a few Scottish and Irish airs, while the two youngest Bennets – with some of the Lucases and several officers – began to dance in a corner of the room.

After one dance, during which he collected his thoughts, William stood up with Elizabeth, then Charlotte, Kitty and Lydia, and the younger Lucas girls, all the while trying hard to talk about interesting things. With Elizabeth and Charlotte he was successful, but with the others, the conversations more or less petered out.

While the dances were ongoing, William walked a bit around the room, his eyes roving, and he was accosted by Miss Bingley, who was piqued at not having caught his attention for the whole night. "I can guess the subject of your reverie."

"I should imagine not,” he managed to reply with perfect diffidence.

"You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in such society; and indeed, like you, I was never more annoyed! The dullness, and yet the noise - the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people! What I would give to hear your opinions of them!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was much more agreeably engaged. I have been thinking on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

Miss Bingley immediately fixed her eyes on his face, and desired he would tell her what lady had the credit of inspiring such reflections. William replied, seemingly without forethought, but with great intrepidity:

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Miss Bingley. "I am all astonishment. How long has she been such a favourite?—and pray, when am I to wish you joy?"

"That is exactly the question which I expected you to ask. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love to matrimony in a moment. I knew you would be wishing me joy." William’s face barely controlled his disgust. An intimate friend such as Elizabeth herself would have seen the displeasure in the half-closed lids of his eyes, the slight pucker in his eyebrows, and the stiff rigidity of his broad shoulders. However, only his father would have noticed the slightly bitter twist to his lips; everyone else would have mistaken it for disgust.

"Nay, if you are serious about it, I shall consider the matter is absolutely settled. You will be having a charming mother-in-law, indeed; and, of course, she will always be at Pemberley with you," Miss Bingley struck out at Elizabeth with barely masked venom, and continued to insert these barbs throughout the evening.

He pointedly ignored her, and although his composure convinced her that all was safe, she failed to look at his eyes. They sparked with barely concealed animosity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to vivekavalnoi, The Butterfly Dreamer, and those 10 additional kudos-leavers! Also, thank you to stranger12 for bookmarking my work!


	8. Of Sickness and Society

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little play and humiliation of Caroline Bingley, because let's face it, who doesn't hate her? I apologize to those who don't hate her, but I do.  
> This is also demonstrative of William and Elizabeth's relationship, unusual for the time. It's a little break. If you want, you can read it through, or skip to the next chapter.

About this time, Kitty and Lydia were walking to Meryton – only a mile away from Longbourn Village – to visit their Aunt and Uncle Phillips. Their visits to Mrs. Phillips were the most interesting at the present. Every day added something to their knowledge of the officers' names and connections. Their lodgings were no secret, and at length they began to know the officers themselves. Mr. Phillips visited them all, and this opened to his youngest nieces a store of felicity unknown before. They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an ensign.

After listening one morning to their effusions on this subject, Mr. Bennet coolly observed: “From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in England. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”

Catherine, or Kitty as she was known at home, was the more sensible between the two, and fell silent for a minute or two, disconcerted. But Lydia was unconcerned, and prattled on as if she had not heard her father, about Captain Carter and how she hoped to see him before he left for London. Her mother, however, came to her defence.

“I am astonished, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that you should be so ready to think your own children silly. If I wished to think slightingly of anybody's children, it should not be of my own.”

“If my children are silly, I hope to be always sensible of it,” Mr. Bennet’s bland voice came from behind his newspaper.

“Yes - but as it happens, they are all of them very clever.” Elizabeth, who was passing through, having just come in from a morning with William, rolled her eyes discreetly at this comment.

“This is the only point, I hope, on which we do not agree. I had hoped that our sentiments coincided in every particular, but I must so far differ from you as to think our two youngest daughters uncommonly foolish.”

“My dear Mr. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother. When they get to our age, I daresay they will not think about officers any more than we do. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well—and, indeed, so I do still at my heart; and if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not say nay to him.”

“Mamma,” cried Lydia, “my aunt says that Colonel Forster and Captain Carter do not go so often to Miss Watson's as they did when they first came; she sees them now very often standing in Clarke's library.”

A footman entered, effectively preventing Mrs. Bennet’s reply. “A note for Miss Jane, ma’am,” he explained, “from Netherfield, and I am to wait for an answer.” Mrs. Bennet's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she was eagerly calling out, while her daughter read, “Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love!”

“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then read it aloud:

“MY DEAR FRIEND,—

“If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day's tete-a-tete between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.

“Yours ever, CAROLINE BINGLEY”

“With the officers!” cried Lydia. “I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that.”

“Dining out,” Mrs. Bennet remarked, “that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” Jane asked.

“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night.”

“That would be a good scheme,” observed Elizabeth, “if you were sure that they would not send her home.”

“Oh, but the gentlemen will have Mr. Bingley's chaise to go to Meryton, and the Hursts have no horses to theirs.”

“Mama, I had much rather go in the coach,” Jane protested.

“But, my dear, your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm, Mr. Bennet, are they not?”

“They are wanted in the farm much oftener than I can get them,” Mr. Bennet said.

It was some time before they could get it out of him that the carriage horses were needed in the farm, and that only the riding horses could be spared, and of them only one. Mrs. Bennet triumphantly attended her oldest daughter to the door and sent her off on horseback.

True to Mrs. Bennet’s observation, it rained torrentially not long after Jane had left. Her sisters were uneasy for her, especially Elizabeth, but her mother was delighted in the fulfilment of her scheme: the rain continued well into the night without intermission. Jane would certainly not be returning that night.

“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs. Bennet more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own.

* * *

Next morning, however, a carriage drew up to the Bennet drive, and, to the surprise of everyone, Mr. Darcy stepped out, dressed in navy blue, and asked for Elizabeth. Once she had come, he gave her this missive, which she read aloud in the presence of her family:

“MY DEAREST LIZZY,—

“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones - therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me - and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me.—Yours, etc.”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, “if your daughter should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

“Oh! I am not afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”

“That is exactly why I am here, Mrs. Bennet,” William said. “I came with the carriage so that those of you who wish it should be able to visit Miss Bennet.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth cut in, before anyone could reply, “but I would rather walk.”

“Oh, Lizzy, how can you be so silly as to think of such a thing?” her mother exclaimed. “In all this dirt and mud? No, no – you will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”

“I shall be fit to see Jane – which is all I want. Mama, I am not going to visit, I am going to tend to Jane.” She appealed silently to William. A twinkle shone in William’s eyes, but it did not reach the rest of his face. “I understand, Miss Elizabeth. Would you like me to accompany you?”

“I thank you, Mr. Darcy, but I can manage quite well on my own.”

“Shall I send for the horses, Lizzy?” Mr. Bennet asked.

“No, Papa, three miles is no distance with a motive. I shall be quite alright.”

William then offered to bring Mrs. Bennet and the other three with him, and Mrs. Bennet speedily accepted. Kitty and Lydia asked to be let down at Meryton, to which request William generously agreed. With that, there was a general exodus: the women and William to the carriage, where Elizabeth parted from them, and Mr. Bennet to his library.

Elizabeth crossed the field at an impatient pace, jumping over puddles and stiles, not caring how dirty her shoes and stockings got. Finally, she found herself in view of the great house.

She was shown into the breakfast-parlour, where all but Jane were assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise, except among the Bennets. That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley; and Elizabeth was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. They received her, however, very politely; and in their brother's manners there was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. In William, however, there was genuine joy at her coming, and he greeted her with a smile in his eyes and on his lips. Mr. Hurst was dozing on the sofa, and so unable to greet her.

Jane, she found from inquiries, had slept very ill, and was still very feverish. Though she was up, she was not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth quickly excused herself, and went upstairs to tend to her sister. Jane was delighted when she heard that only was her sister here, her mother and Mary were also to pay her a visit as soon as she would let them, and entreated that they be sent up immediately. This request was granted, and Mrs. Bennet was satisfied; Jane was not ill enough to alarm anyone, but was much too ill to be moved.

Once breakfast was over, the Bennets left, and Elizabeth was joined by the Bingley sisters. They tended to Jane with such affection and solicitude that Elizabeth’s dislike of them began to soften. The apothecary, Mr. Jones, visited, announced that she had indeed caught a violent cold and they must endeavour to get the best of it, and promised some draughts. He advised her to go back to bed, and was promptly obeyed, for the feverish symptoms worsened, and Jane’s head ached acutely. None of the ladies left the room for a moment that morning.

* * *

At three, Elizabeth felt that she might be overstaying her welcome, and unwillingly said so.

“You must not soil your petticoats again; please, take the chaise,” Miss Bingley offered.

“Thank you, I will walk.”

“But it is very hot out; surely you can take the chaise this afternoon!”

“Very well, thank you, Miss Bingley.”

Jane stirred, and Elizabeth came to her side. “What is it, Jane?”

“I would like… for you to stay, Lizzy,” Jane whispered, her voice barely audible. Miss Bingley straightened, and converted the offer of the chaise to an invitation to stay at Netherfield for the present. Elizabeth agreed, and a servant was dispatched to Longbourn to bear the news back to the Bennets, and request a trunk of clothes.

* * *

After dinner – which had removed the sisters from Elizabeth’s good graces – Elizabeth went up to Jane, while the others remained. Miss Bingley declared her manners to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, and no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added: “She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.”

“She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? – and after Mr. Darcy kindly offered her the carriage! Her hair, so untidy, so blowsy!”

“Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.”

“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley; “but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice.”

“You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley; “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”

“Certainly not.” But he added, to himself, “I would not have my sister risk her safety for only me for anything!”

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”

“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley. William nodded slightly, but this gesture went unnoticed by the sisters.

“I am afraid, Mr. Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley in a half whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied; “they were brightened by the exercise.” A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again: “I have much regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.”

“Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”

“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” cried Bingley, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.” Everyone was startled when William spoke thus: “I quite agree with you there, Charles,” he burst out, unable to tolerate their strictures of Elizabeth and her family much longer.

Suddenly – and conveniently – remembering Jane, the sisters cleared out, only to return with an unfavourable report ten minutes later, and Elizabeth returning soon after. She found the entire party at loo, and was invited to join them, but she suspected them to be playing high. However, her fears were allayed by a particular jerk of William’s head that looked like a small ‘no’, so she accepted.

After one game, however, she quitted the game, and, making her sister her excuse, said she would entertain herself with a book for the rest of the time she stayed downstairs. William stood up and sat down beside her. Miss Bingley took this opportunity to sneer at her: “Miss Eliza Bennet despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”

“In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,” said Bingley; “and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite well.” Elizabeth thanked him from her heart, and then walked towards the table where a few books were lying. He immediately offered to fetch her others—all that his library afforded.

“And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into.”

“I can do quite well with these, Mr. Bingley,” she assured him.

“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!”

“It has been the work of many generations; of course it would be extensive.”

“And you have added so much to it yourself; you are always buying books!”

“It is not so much the size of the library I care for, but the stories and information it holds within. A small library with books of quality is infinitely preferable to a big one with useless novels.” Elizabeth dug her elbow into his side discreetly, and whispered out of the side of her mouth, “Pride, William!” And he added, “Of course, books of quality change from person to person; I prefer practical books and poetry to novels. But those are my tastes, and are not those of all, so some consideration seems in order.”

“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” tried Miss Bingley, changing the subject, “will she be as tall as I am?”

“I think she will,” William answered civilly. “She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller.”

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be as accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?” 

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” William agreed, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“You must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman,” observed Elizabeth, her tone indicating to William that she was going to tease.

“Indeed I do.”

“Oh! Certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually seen. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word. Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

William laughed. “I beg to differ, Miss Bingley,” he replied, the sparkle in his eyes revealing his amusement to Elizabeth, who had put it there, however unintentionally. “Such material accomplishments are only of consequence to people who like to boast of their achievements, and therefore, by my standards, not accomplished at all.”

“Then pray tell, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said playfully, “what accomplishments must a young lady have to pass your standards?”

“My standards are not as high as you imply, Miss Elizabeth!” he exclaimed in mock consternation.

“Then what are they?” Elizabeth persisted, tilting up her chin.

William laid down his book and turned to face the room. “These are not so much accomplishments as desirable qualities. If you say ‘accomplishments’ and mean it, I say that they are overrated. There are many good women who are not accomplished by material standards.” He began to tick the ‘desirable qualities’ off on his fingers. “First, there must be sense and a strong knowledge of what is right and wrong. True kindness and compassion are another. To do kindnesses to strangers is good, but to do it openly is quite another thing. As an example, I present the situation of myself at thirteen and a little girl of six.

“She had greeted me when a downdraft struck my kite and sent it to my face. Seeing my pain, she came to me as quickly as her short legs would allow, hanging propriety for the sake of kindness. She saw that my hair gave me trouble with my watering eyes, and she reached out and held it up.” He looked pointedly at Miss Bingley. “A year later, when I was fourteen, that same girl wiped away the tears I cried at the death of my mother in that same park, not bothering with society’s rules. That is kindness to me. And that,” he concluded, “ends my list of ‘accomplishments’, though I also very much like a quick wit.”

Elizabeth pinched his hand, and got a little smile in his eyes. Miss Bingley had already turned back to the game, and William said quietly, so his voice would not carry across the room, “I am very glad that you are here, Elizabeth.”


	9. Of Officers and Offence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I tweaked the timeline a bit, don't roast me, please. I just wanted to get Wickham back. I also think that with the arrival of WIckham, Aunt Phillips would have invited him, and her nieces. And Lydia probably would've made Elizabeth promise because Lizzy was so boring, so Lydia saw this as doing her sister a favor (Lydia gives love too). And this would've happened.

The next afternoon, Elizabeth met her sisters coming to Netherfield, and she greeted them happily. “Hello, Kitty, hello, Lydia! What brings you here to Netherfield?”

Lydia pouted. “This is the day Aunt Phillips has some of the officers to dine! And Lizzy, you promised that you should come! Aunt Phillips has gone quite distracted!”

William, who had just come out of the door, said, “Miss Lydia, surely you know the condition of your eldest sister.”

“Oh, pooh!” Lydia said dismissively. “Jane can do without Lizzy for an evening! Besides, she has Mr. Bingley and his sisters to tend to her!”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth rebuked. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said, to William. A slight smile shone in his eyes, and he replied, “Since when have you apologized to me for things that are out of your control? Your family, if not the most proper one, is a loving one, and I can hold no grudges against that.”

“Well, Lizzy?” Kitty prompted. “There is a new lieutenant in town as well! Denny’s friend has come, and we have only seen him! I want to meet him!”

Elizabeth sighed. “Very well. Only let me run up and tell Jane of our plans.”

“Allow me to escort you,” William offered. “I can notify Miss Bennet, as well as get my hat and overcoat.”

“Thank you, sir,” Elizabeth said, pinching his hand. He winked, dashed out of sight, and was back again before the silence got too awkward. This time, he was dressed in dark green with a matching top hat and black boots and greatcoat. “Are we ready?” he inquired, straightening his cravat in that fastidious way he had.

“Yes!” Kitty and Lydia chorused. William nodded, satisfied, and offered Elizabeth his arm.

“How often do you walk to Meryton?” William asked of none of the sisters in particular.

“Once or twice a week to visit Aunt Phillips,” Elizabeth answered. “But I daresay Kitty and Lydia have found other diversions in Meryton.”

“Indeed,” William said, as they entered the town, and Kitty and Lydia made a beeline for the Phillipses’ house. “Are there really so many officers?”

“A regiment or two,” Elizabeth replied, grimacing, “but already that is too much for our family to handle.”

William chuckled. “At least not all militiamen are scoundrels,” he observed, his mood changing. Anger snapped in his eyes, and his brow furrowed a bit.

“And on what experience do you base that, sir?”

William bit his lip, and said, “On that which has traumatized both my sister and me for life.”

“Which one is that?” she asked. “William, tell me.”

William actually seemed to writhe in indecision, but he ultimately said, “For Georgiana’s sake, Elizabeth, I must be silent. I do not doubt your discretion, but out of disgust and anger you might be rash, and where would we be then? Someday, maybe, when Georgiana has recovered, but not now.” He shook his head, and the pain of disappointment that Elizabeth felt was mirrored in his face. “It was only last summer, and we both still feel the effects. Please, do not press me.” He looked at her intensely. “I would not hide secrets from you without good reason, but please –”

“William, it is alright.” Elizabeth put a finger to his lips. “If you try to explain, you might let slip what you must not.”

“Thank you,” he said, as they came to the Phillipses’ house. “I know I can trust you, Lizzy, and I thank you for that. There are too few people I can trust in this world, and I thank God that you are one of them.” Before she removed her hand from his arm, he surprisingly covered her hand with his other one, but drew back as though he had been burned. He lowered his eyes, and bid her goodbye. “What time should I return?” he asked.

“Return?” she asked blankly.

“To – to escort you back to Netherfield,” he stammered. Elizabeth smiled. “That will not be necessary, William.”

“Let me do it,” he said quickly. “Please,” he added, as an afterthought.

Elizabeth grinned. “You will certainly spare me my sisters’ conversation of officers on our way. Very well, half-past seven should be about right.”

William nodded and left. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she pushed open the door to the parlour, where Mrs. Phillips, Kitty, Lydia, and several officers were. Kitty and Lydia were already flirting with two officers their sister recognized as Lieutenant Frederick Denny and Captain John Carter. Colonel Forster and another lieutenant named Sanderson were talking to Aunt Phillips. Maria Lucas was talking to another officer, another was talking to one of the Harrington sisters, and the last one was standing by the fireplace with a glass of port.

This last officer was vaguely familiar to Elizabeth, and she tried to place his name. His dark hair was almost the same shade as William’s, but he had amber eyes and a nose that looked like it might have been broken once. He wore a lieutenant’s badge, but looked new. He must be that new lieutenant Lydia was talking about earlier, Elizabeth thought. There was something charming and smooth in his stance.

The hazy memory came to her: it was the summer William was seventeen. He had brought another boy to the park one day. That boy had been sixteen at that time, and had preferred to climb trees rather than fly kites. Of course, this had resulted in a fierce competition between the three, with Elizabeth winning because she was the smallest and the lightest, and so able to climb higher than either of the boys. William had run a close second despite being the oldest and tallest of the group, with the unfortunate last placer being the new boy. William had never brought him to the park again.

The new boy – whom William had called George, Elizabeth recalled – had been dark of hair and amber of eye, like this man. The boy had been tall, but not as tall as William. Elizabeth remembered that he had not had a crooked nose that time. So this George had somehow gotten in a fight between then and now. He must be about six-and-twenty now.

He noticed her and sauntered over. “Good afternoon,” Elizabeth said absently, still trying to remember his name.

He bowed and smiled charmingly. “Good afternoon, Miss –?”

“Elizabeth Bennet,” she answered uneasily. The lieutenant bowed again, and said, “Lieutenant Wickham at your service.”

Wickham! Elizabeth remembered William telling her of his father’s godson, George Wickham, who was also his oldest friend. “Sir, forgive me for asking, but, by any chance, is your Christian name George?”

Lieutenant Wickham nodded, not missing a beat. “Yes, Miss Bennet, it is. May I ask how you know?”

“No… I would like to keep my sources secret for now,” she said. She had never liked Wickham, and William had complained of his behaviour at Cambridge. William might not like having such a man thrust on him right now.

“Very well.” He smiled, but turned to Kitty when she asked him how he liked Meryton. However, his manners were very charming and much more suave than most of the bumbling militiamen, and Kitty and Lydia were soon smitten with him. Wickham seemed entirely unlike William’s accounts of him, which made Elizabeth think he must have changed between then and now. The supper passed perfectly, and Elizabeth walked to the door behind a very amiable Wickham.

William was waiting outside the door, impeccably dressed as always. Immediately his eyes, meeting Wickham’s, turned icy cold. Elizabeth perceived just how angry he was in the stiff rigidity of his whole body that hid the trembling, in the furrow of his brows, in the way his lips drew out into a thin line, and especially in the way his eyes were blazing. The cerulean blue irises had acquired a sort of heat; they glowed like blue-hot fire, as though if one came too close, it would leap out and consume them mercilessly.

“Mr. Darcy?” she asked.

William only spoke after a few minutes, and he spoke to Wickham, not her, but the glance he gave her meant that he did it out of anger, not omission, and the slight wave of his hand told her to go. She stepped back to the parlour. “Wickham,” he growled. “What do you want here?”

“I am merely serving my country, Darcy,” Wickham said, unfazed. “Why blame me?”

“For last summer, scum!” William burst out, in a short, sporadic instant of speech. Elizabeth stood unobtrusively to the side, shocked. Was Wickham connected to the traumatic event William had mentioned? If so, how? And how did this include William’s sister? Was it an affair?

“What about last summer?” Wickham asked innocently.

“Ramsgate, you villain!” William cried vehemently. “Georgiana is still suffering the consequences of your play!” He was shaking, however little, and his clenched fists, hidden by his sides, were white-knuckled. “Remember what I told you last, Wickham? I promised that I would call you out, you damn filthy excuse of a man! And I tell you that if I see you near Elizabeth or any of the young women of Meryton I will do more than break your nose!” The knuckles cracked loudly.

Elizabeth did not mind that William had cursed, but the information in his speech gave her enough to work on. The incident had probably happened last summer in Ramsgate. Coming from his reference to herself and the other young ladies in town, she deduced that it _had_ been an affair with William’s sister. Over this William had promised to challenge Wickham – which was illegal – and broken that man’s nose, which explained the crookedness. Furthermore, Georgiana had been traumatized, which pointed to heartbreak. In this matter, Elizabeth decided that she would not interfere.

“Elizabeth, eh, Darcy?” Wickham drawled. “Elizabeth Bennet?” Elizabeth sank further out of sight as William realized his mistake. “Yes,” he snarled. “I meant her. Wickham, I will not give you the chance to do to all the fathers and brothers in Meryton what you have done to me. I challenge you to a duel.”

“What, Darcy, challenging the son of his father’s steward to a duel? How dishonourable!” Wickham feigned surprise.

“I care nothing for that! I only know that you have wounded me and my sister more grievously than you can ever repay, but you will pay what you can, you devil!” William was shaking now, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Very well,” Wickham sighed in mock remorse. “I choose pistols, on an open field, to incapacitation.”

“So be it. When?”

“A fortnight from now, perhaps?”

“That is too long. You could have stolen some poor young heiress and run off to London by then. I will agree to no later than four days hence.” William’s voice was deadly calm, now that his first rage had passed and his goal accomplished.

“Very well, four days hence, at dawn,” Wickham sighed. He brushed past William and left.

Elizabeth quietly emerged from the parlour. William looked much calmer, though pain and anger raged in his eyes. “I wish I could have saved him,” William whispered. “Then it would never have come to this.” A tap on his arm brought him back to reality, and he walked her back to Netherfield.

* * *

William followed her into Jane’s room. “I must tell you about what happened.” He looked seriously disturbed.

“William –”

“Do not try!” he cried. “I have to tell you. I have to tell someone. I have carried this alone for too long – it has begun to erode my relations with other people. It has already poisoned my interactions with Wickham, and now my sister as well. Now it has turned off the strangers of Meryton; I can no longer let it dominate my life. I must tell you.”

“If you want to, I will not say nay. Jane is asleep; perhaps you can do it now?” Elizabeth gestured at the chair across from her. William sat down in it with relief. He was no longer the carefree William of the mornings, but Mr. Darcy, weighed down by his cares and worries. Elizabeth dearly wished that she could comfort him. _He looks so tired, poor man. I wonder what happened with that affair that upset him so much._

“At Cambridge, I told you about what Wickham did. I was not lying or exaggerating; he was behaving disgracefully. Then… then my father died. He had requested me to make sure that a certain living – the one at Kympton – was available to Wickham as soon as the current incumbent died, if he wished to take orders. It was worded so as to allow me to take it as a conditional request if need be – and it happened that it was necessary. Wickham announced that he had no intention of becoming a clergyman, instead wanting to study law and asked for £3,000 in lieu of the living. In return, he would forfeit any claims to the living, and receive the inheritance he was bequeathed, which was £1,000. He agreed, I gave him the money, and he disappeared. It seemed as though all connection between us was dissolved. However, Wickham was not finished with me yet.

“Less than three years after that, the rector at Kympton passed, and Wickham applied for the position. He threw in a line about what my ‘dear father’ would have wanted. Of course I refused him.

“Last summer, I hired for Georgie a new companion named Mrs. Younge, who I sent with her to Ramsgate. I did not know that Wickham was there, that Ms. Younge was in league with him, or what would follow. Imagine, then, my surprise when I paid her an unexpected visit to learn that she was to elope – with Wickham, no less! I made haste, and… well, I will not go into particulars; that would be too painful, but I revealed Wickham’s ulterior motives. Georgiana was heartbroken, and Wickham was off like smoke. Now, Georgie is recovering, but it will be a long time.

“Last autumn, Wickham had the audacity and the impudence to apply to me for funding in buying his commission – in person! That was when I lost control and broke his nose.” William laughed humourlessly. “He left, never to return again. But now it seems as though fate has thrown him in my path again.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

William looked at her earnestly. “Because Wickham is a rake and a scoundrel. I need you to warn all the merchants, tradesmen, and patriarchs of Meryton and Longbourn. Wickham is usually charming enough to convince merchants to extend him a line of credit, but he never repays it. He also has a reputation for ruining women. People will not believe me if I say it, because I am much less charming than Wickham, so I leave the task to you.

“You must understand that I would not normally do this, but I need everybody to know what Wickham can do. Elizabeth, I am sorry to burden you, but I cannot do it alone.”

“First of all, when you choose to be, you can be just as charming as Wickham,” Elizabeth said, tilting up her chin. “Next, how do you think I can inform all of Meryton? Most likely they are all already biased in his favour.”

“I give you permission to tell them my story, but not to give my name or my sister’s. Please, Elizabeth, you have to do this. I cannot stand by and see what happened to me happen to the families of Meryton. No one deserves that fate.”

“You have changed, William, and for the better,” Elizabeth observed. “The William I quarrelled with five years ago would never have troubled himself for the sake of a small country town in the middle of obscurity.”

“That Darcy was different,” William agreed. “But in some ways, it was our argument that brought my pride to light. I was mistaken in my conclusion that I had to distance myself from you, or that since my father was dead, I had the right to shut all of my friends out.”

“I will do my best, William.” Elizabeth stood.

“The other reason I tell you this is because… I challenged Wickham to a duel, four days hence, near Oakham Mount. It is to incapacitation, but I fear that Wickham will kill me, given the chance. I need you to know this because Wickham will surely try to twist the story around.”

“William… a duel? Really?” Elizabeth sat back down and looked at him. His face was hardened with determination. “Do you think you can prevail?”

“There is no guarantee of that, Elizabeth. I may be his superior in swordfighting, but I must concede to his better marksmanship and aim.” He tilted his chin back in a rather comical imitation of her own stubborn idiosyncrasy. “I am determined to fight this duel. Nothing you can say will persuade me not to.”

“If it must be, I wish you good luck, William,” Elizabeth said, standing and curtsying. William smiled, stood, and bowed. “Thank you.” He walked to the door and left.

* * *

Four days afterwards, Elizabeth climbed Oakham Mount with a heavy heart. The dawnlight barely touched the horizon, and the silence was unnerving as she tramped up the well-worn path. Grass crunched underfoot and birds chirped around her, but Elizabeth kept her eyes straight in front of her, fixed on the crest of the hill. She pulled her pelisse more tightly around herself, but it was not only the morning air that made her cold.

She sat down where she could see Meryton, Netherfield, and Longbourn clearly. Just as she expected, two figures became clearly defined from the misty morning and the silhouettes of Meryton. One had a head of dark hair and a barely identifiable green coat. The other had bright ginger hair that caught the light, and a brown coat. Even from here, Elizabeth could guess that these two were William and Bingley.

Elizabeth dropped behind a tree so that neither could see her, and she watched them as they moved to the field beside the Mount, opposite Meryton and obscured from Longbourn by a forest. The murmur of their voices reached Elizabeth, but she could not make out what they were saying. Judging from their body language, Bingley was still pushing for a peaceful conclusion, while William was adamant.

Another pair came out of Meryton. Both gentlemen wore scarlet military coats, and both had dark hair, which made it hard for Elizabeth to tell which one was Wickham. She peered closer. No, one of them was Lieutenant Denny, she was fairly sure that that one on the left was Denny. Yes, it was Denny. That meant the one on the right was…

“Wickham,” William said calmly to the man on the right, confirming Elizabeth’s suspicions. “I had thought you would not show your face, but since you have satisfied at least the bounds of honor, let us proceed.”

With that he offered his pistol to his second, Bingley. Wickham did the same to Denny, and a few minutes later the seconds exchanged pistols. Both were pronounced fit, and handed back to their owners’ seconds, who returned them to their owners after loading. William and his opponent counted out twenty paces each in opposite directions, still facing away from each other.

Bingley took out a coin and flipped it, and Denny moved to the middle ground between Wickham and Darcy, with Bingley standing beside him, a far enough distance. A moment later, Denny’s voice rang out: “FIRE!”

The two principal duellists whirled around, and the report of two gunshots filled the air. As the smoke cleared, Elizabeth squinted down at the gentlemen, trying to see. William was wounded in his right arm, but he was still able to continue with his left. Wickham had a bullet in his left leg, and he was staggering.

The two seconds spoke quietly to each other, then to their principals, and, as Elizabeth watched William shake his head, she realized that he was determined to carry it through to the end.

Once more the seconds checked both guns, loaded their principal’s gun, and moved off. Once more the principals turned away from each other. Once more Denny shouted, “FIRE!”

Again the report of gunshots echoed in the air. Wickham was on his knees, clutching at his hip while the blood ran down his trousers, while William was still standing – although that in itself was a miracle, seeing as he had been shot in his left leg. Wickham struggled to his feet, and the dread made Elizabeth shudder and pull her pelisse even tighter. The silence stretched out as Elizabeth became painfully aware of everything around her as her heart pounded in her throat. Her cold fingers scrabbled to keep the pelisse wrapped rightly around her.

The seconds pleaded even more stridently with their principals to end the duel, but William was too stubborn for his own good, and adamantly refused to end the duel until, as agreed, one of the principals was physically unable to continue.

Load. Turn. “FIRE!” The gunshots. Elizabeth had to shove her hands away from her face to look down even as her heart shot up into her throat at the pained howl.

It was Wickham. He had taken a bullet to his other foot, rendering him incapable of standing alone. Already he was on the ground, but the wounded lieutenant was not the one Elizabeth paid attention to.

William was kneeling on the ground, his hand on his right shoulder, even while the blood ran over. Bingley was racing back to Meryton for the doctor to tend to the wounded men as William slowly dragged himself to his feet. His bloody hand retrieved his discarded pistol and he stared down at it stonily.

Denny stood from his place beside Wickham and declared his principal incapacitated. William stood firm, nodded, and looked on as Denny helped Wickham back to Meryton. As they turned out of sight, Elizabeth rose to try and help William, but he saw her first.

William turned to look at her, his face white in the morning sun, nodded, and collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where should I begin the next chapter? Suggestions, anyone?


	10. Of Convalescence and Collins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the resolution to the cliffhanger! Sorry I took so long, but I had to have like 5 rewrites! Thank you for your patience!

Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his eyes in a haze of pain. He could hardly think through the blinding agony in his arm, leg, and shoulder. In fact, considering the wounds, it was a wonder he had been able to aim for the last shot. His vision seemed to have a kaleidoscope of colors superimposed on reality, and yellow spots danced wherever he looked, rendering everything he saw blotchy and distorted.

At first he did not recognize the face he saw looming over him, blocking out the blinding sun. He saw only the dark hair, and everything else was eclipsed as he gasped for air. His throat constricted, and he could no longer feel his own body. Darcy tried to move, tried to warn whoever it was to stay away, but the person’s lips moved.

What was the person saying? Darcy wanted to squirm in frustration. The buzzing in his ears was so loud… and the pain so acute… were his limbs being ripped off? Because that was what it felt like.

A new wave of pain throbbed through him, blacking out his vision again, and numbing his body all over again. Darcy opened his mouth to scream, but no sound seemed to come out. He reached his good arm out to stop the bleeding, stop the pain, somehow, however! But it would not move, and even that outlet for his pain was denied him.

With pain lancing throughout his frame, Darcy slipped mercifully into unconsciousness.

* * *

Charles Bingley dashed back to the spot where he’d left his friend, the physician from London hot on his heels. “Darcy?” he shouted. “Darcy?”

“Over here!” someone else’s voice called from the foot of the hill. Charles’s heart pounded in his throat. That voice wasn’t Darcy’s. In fact… it sounded like Elizabeth Bennet! If Darcy was not responding… oh God, no.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

“Mr. Bingley! Hurry!”

Charles ran to the hill and nearly stumbled over his own feet at the sight his eyes met. Darcy had collapsed on the field, blood soaking his clothes from the gunshot wounds. He looked only unconscious, but Charles could be wrong, judging from the red that already soaked the grass under Darcy’s body.

Around Darcy’s arm and shoulder was a woman’s pelisse – probably Miss Elizabeth’s – and Miss Elizabeth herself was trying to staunch the bleeding on his leg. Charles dashed to her, taking off his coat, and wrapped it around Darcy’s leg, applying what pressure he could with his shaking hands.

“Is he dead?” Charles heard himself asking, his voice alien to even himself.

Her face pale, Elizabeth shook her head. “He still breathes, but I fear he will not live much longer if we leave him here.”

“Then we will not leave him here!” Charles declared. “Mr. Perry, may we go to Meryton for a stretcher?” When the physician nodded, Charles got to his feet and dashed off for the third time that day.

* * *

Elizabeth stood up as Mr. Perry, the physician, knelt beside William. She stared down at her hands, soaked in blood. _William’s_ blood. The stupid boy, why a duel? It had to be a duel, did it not?

And now William might be dying this very moment… because of his own stubbornness. Because she had not made him stop and think. She had let him go and get himself killed – she, who called herself his dearest friend!

_William, you have to live._

He had a sister who depended on him. Cousins who loved him. An aunt and uncle who cared for him. Friends who held him dear, like Mr. Bingley and herself. William had to live through this… for himself, and for all of them. William could not die – he was too important to too many people for that.

But Elizabeth had heard her mother worry about her father dying in a duel too often not to know that it might happen, especially in a pistol duel. The blood loss from the wounds themselves was enough to kill, let alone the risk of the wounds becoming septic later on. And there was the point of the person’s opponent. If they were unscrupulous enough, they could murder the person in their sleep. Wickham, Elizabeth thought, was certainly unscrupulous enough to do that.

Elizabeth stared down at William’s pale face, his dark hair in sharp contrast with his white cheeks, and prayed that the closed eyes opened again.

_William, you have to live._

* * *

Darcy blinked. He was still in pain, but the pain was less of an acute lance, and more of a dull throb. His shoulder hurt the most, but his head hurt too. The light coming from the window set his temples to pounding painfully. Darcy squeezed his eyes shut as the light tried to penetrate his closed lids.

It dawned on his sleep-fogged mind that he was no longer lying on bloody grass. He was lying on a clean bed, with clean sheets on top of him. Darcy blinked again as he saw the identifiable ceiling above him, and the wall brocade to his left and right. He was in Netherfield, more specifically his guest room at Netherfield.

Something like voices registered at last, instead of the buzzing in his ears. Whose voices were those? He strained to hear them, but they were too quiet. They seemed to be coming from his left, so he leaned to his left to hear it, only to be disturbed by a sharp and very painful twinge from his arm and shoulder. “Damn!” he cursed under his breath. Darcy leaned back.

But his curiosity would simply not let it rest. He leaned over again, and this time blurted out, “Ow!” at the pain in his arm and shoulder.

The voices abruptly stopped. “Darcy?” a familiar voice asked. “Did you say something?”

Charles! Darcy could nearly squirm for relief – although, due to his wounds, he could not squirm. “Yes, Charles, I did.”

Charles’s face loomed in the edge of his vision. “How do you feel?”

“To be frank, terrible. My wounds hurt like the blazes and –”

“Darcy!” Charles hissed, poking him in his good side. “Miss Elizabeth is present, and you had better not swear out loud!”

“Oh.” For some reason, that made him want to squirm more. Of course he knew the reason, but he denied it. “I apologize, Miss Elizabeth.”

“That is quite alright, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth appeared at the other edge of his vision, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Are you quite up to being teased yet, William?”

Darcy laughed. “I think my wits are not yet fully awake, and so I must ask you to defer the teasing till you come again.”

“And so I will,” Elizabeth said solemnly. “William, have you any idea how much you worried us?”

“What?”

“You idiot!” Charles burst out. “When you were unresponsive for hours and hours, Miss Elizabeth was almost hysterical – not, of course, to you, but I swear, if you were awake and well then, I would have broken your nose myself!”

“Oh, be quiet, Charlie,” Darcy muttered.

“And you are one to talk!”

“Be quiet, both of you!” Elizabeth cut in. “Mr. Bingley, yelling at Mr. Darcy will not help him recover. In fact, it will likely make his headache worse.”

“How did you know I have a headache?”

Elizabeth turned to him. “I saw that you kept blinking and turning away from the light. Since the only reason I have for avoiding light is a headache, you probably had one.” She glared at him. “But how could you be so stupid? You nearly died!”

“I know. I was angry. I know I should not have done that, but… well. After months of seeing Georgiana depressed because of him, I could not take the sight of him any longer. I also could not live with the fact that by driving him away, I exposed God knows how many towns to his corruption. I should have told everyone and hang the consequences, but… Georgiana is shy, and she would not like being scrutinized.”

Elizabeth relaxed, but pinched his good hand for good measure. “There, now I have got the scolding out of the way, it is time for the rest.”

Darcy laughed. “You are still eight years old now, are you? I recall you using that sentence in a letter!”

Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height. “I would have you know, sir, that thirteen years have passed since then, and I am much more mature!”

“Of course,” Darcy replied ironically, a smile twitching his lips. He winced as his headache gave another stab.

Elizabeth squeezed out a wet cloth from the washbasin. “This might help. It always helps me, at any rate.” She wiped his forehead with the cloth. Darcy nodded slowly. “Yes, that does feel better. Thank you.”

Charles coughed loudly. “Ahem! – I think I hear Caroline. I shall have to go and bar her entrance.”

Darcy squirmed inside. Caroline Bingley was the last person he needed in his room at the moment – well, perhaps not the last, but at least second to the last.

True enough, Charles’s voice carried from the door. “No, Caroline, Darcy is still asleep – at least, I hope he is only asleep. I know nothing of whether he will wake or not – no, I am not going to develop clairvoyant powers in order to tell you if he will.”

Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a glance and sighed with relief. Darcy closed his eyes in the peaceful quiet that followed, and fell asleep.

* * *

William convalesced slowly. He was still not allowed to stand too long or walk a fortnight after the duel. His right arm was in a sling, and he rarely strayed out of his bedroom, and then only to watch his sister play the pianoforte.

Luckily, all of his wounds were not very serious. His shoulder and arm wounds were very much grazing wounds, and although his leg wound went slightly deeper, it had not penetrated enough to shatter any bone or permanently cut any muscles.

Georgiana had come to Netherfield at the summons of Charles and Elizabeth, who had sent for her as soon as her brother was out of their hands. Richard Fitzwilliam, William’s favourite cousin, had also been sent for, along with his brother, and both had come. Unfortunately, Viscount Milton had had to return only a week afterwards, leaving Richard and Georgiana in Charles’s capable and hospitable hands.

William never said so, but he was frustrated by his confinement. He was an active young man, and was naturally bored by the routine of eating, sleeping, and reading. Charles had no instruments that he could play – the pianoforte could not be moved into his room, and anyway he could not play with only one hand, saying the same for his violin, which was still at Pemberley – and the library was easily exhausted. William found himself unable to attend to correspondence, for he was right-handed, and so could not write with his left hand.

And even though he never said so, Elizabeth knew he was frustrated. She came to talk to him almost every day, since she and her sister had already departed for Longbourn. She was usually accompanied by her father, who would not hear of his daughter going alone, and sometimes her sister Jane.

One day, about a fortnight and two days after the duel, William forgot the gunshot wound in his leg and stood up. He yelped with the pain, but the next minute Elizabeth was under his good arm, supporting him. “Take a step,” she said encouragingly.

William looked down at the floor. Big mistake. He was suddenly frozen, unable to move even a little. His limbs were stuck in place. His arm tightened around Elizabeth’s shoulders, and he stammered, “I – I cannot! I – am – afraid.”

“That’s quite alright. Now, who do you sound like?” Elizabeth asked. Her voice was bright and soothing, calming him down and stilling his trembling.

He forced himself to remember who he sounded like. Elizabeth was the easiest to focus on, seeing as she was right in front of him. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled up at him, and he stared into them, trying to remember.

_“Elizabeth, jump down. I will catch you.” Seventeen-year-old William tried to make his voice reassuring as he reached out his arms for the ten-year-old who was stuck in the highest branches of a tree._

_“I – I cannot! I – am – afraid.” Elizabeth clung desperately to the branch, one of her legs already precariously off the tree. The other one was scrabbling for a hold, and her arms were the only things keeping her from falling. “William! I will fall all the way to the ground – I will get hurt.”_

_“You will_ not _. I promise.” William stood directly below her, his heart pounding with adrenaline. His body was hard-wired to catch the girl when she fell._

_“William, no! Do not make me!” Elizabeth cried, striving for a hold in the tree. “I cannot! I am too high up!”_

_“Elizabeth, trust me. I promise.” William’s voice was serious and reassuring at the same time – or at least he tried to make it so. His voice had a note in it, that only he could hear, that betrayed his nervousness – a shaking, fearful note. He masked it as well as he could, for Elizabeth’s sake._

_Elizabeth screwed her eyes up and let go. William somehow managed to lock his arms around her before she could crash to the ground. “There!” he said, setting her down. “That was not so bad!”_

_Elizabeth laughed, even though her voice trembled. “No, it was not.” She hugged her friend tightly. “Thank you, William!”_

William blinked, back in the present. “I – I sound like you. That day when you were ten years old, when you climbed too high and could not come down.” His leg was already paining him more than it had before, and he stumbled, but Elizabeth boosted him up.

“Come on, William, I will catch you if you fall,” Elizabeth reassured him. “Go on, take a step!”

William took a deep breath, raised his right foot, and stepped forward. Pain lanced up his left leg until he put his weight on his right foot, but did not subside completely. He stepped forward again, and gasped. Spots danced in his eyes, and he did not realize he was falling until a huge tug on his left arm jerked him back up to his upright position. He quickly shifted his weight off his left leg, and stepped forward again.

William managed to half-hop (short steps on his left leg, longer steps on his right) to his bed before he collapsed on it. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said, feeling as though he had run himself ragged.

Elizabeth handed him a glass of water. “That was not so bad, was it?”

William thought about it. It had been painful, yes, very painful, but it had felt very nice to have walked somewhere without falling down for the first time in a fortnight. “No, not entirely.” He drank a little and laid the glass on the table.

* * *

From there, William’s recovery was sure. His leg wound might leave him with a limp for the rest of his life, but at least he would _have_ his life. He might have a few twinges in his shoulder or arm in cold weather, but what mattered to him was that he would live to _see_ cold weather.

Early on December 18th, Richard left to join his regiment, with the satisfaction of knowing that not only was his cousin out of danger, but also that Wickham had died on the 9th – painfully – due to his wounds becoming infected.

Later that day, at around seven in the morning, William managed to get out of bed without keeling over immediately. He sighed, reached over to his desk and twirled his old pen in his fingers. He stopped and stared at the glossy black case, and the old scratch down the side that he had made five years ago.

He stood, leaning on the wall for support. It was decided. He would go to Longbourn this morning and hang the consequences!

* * *

Dressed in dark green, with his top hat and greatcoat, William limped laboriously towards Longbourn, braving the snow and cold. Honestly, though, he did not feel any of it. He made his way to the tree he knew Elizabeth would pass, and sat down.

Sighing, his eyes flashed to his trousers, under which the bandage was wrapped around his leg, and to the cane he had used. William knew he should not use it with his left hand, but his right arm and shoulder had not yet fully healed. The humiliation burned inside his throat. Why oh why did he challenge Wickham to that duel? Granted, Wickham was dead now, but William’s sensitive pride had been wounded by the dilemma he had faced.

Using a cane! Before the duel, he would have shunned that notion as madness. That he, a perfectly healthy young man, should be reduced to using a cane like an old man shamed him beyond words, so much so that he actually preferred the boredom of staying in his rooms all day and night to the mortification of being seen like that.

* * *

He was interrupted from his slumber by a voice that could only be Elizabeth’s. “William! Wake up! Wake up, please. Please don’t be dead.”

He blinked. “Elizabeth…? What – how –?”

Then it hit him. He must have fallen asleep! _Damn it_ , he thought. _Damn it._ Elizabeth’s relieved expression changed to concern and anger as she took in his stretched-out bad leg and cane.

“William, why did you not wait for me to visit you? You walked _three miles_ with your injured leg, to Longbourn and _sat down in the snow?!_ Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy, _what do you think you are doing?!_ ”

William was stung. “Elizabeth Victoria Bennet, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own! And if I choose to sit in the snow, that is my affair!” He stood up in a huff. “I came to talk to you, but it seems my presence is unwelcome. Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time!”

“Have you any idea how much you frightened me? I saw you under the tree, not moving, your eyes closed! Good God, do you not know how cold you were?”

William whirled back around with a sharp retort, but he bit his tongue as what she said sank in. Elizabeth was concerned for him. She had only gotten angry and shouted at him because... he had frightened her. ‘Please don’t be dead’, she had told him. Had he really been that cold?

He took a deep breath and vowed to have a little more patience with people hereafter. “Forgive me. I did not know I frightened you. I came to talk to you, as I said before, but I must have fallen asleep… sorry. And… I apologize for shouting at you.”

To his astonishment – and delight – Elizabeth said nothing, but threw her arms around his neck, careful not to crush his arm. “I was so afraid. William, promise me you will never do that again!”

William wrapped his good arm around her, almost dizzy with the force. “No… I will not.” He pulled a face. “I doubt I will ever be in a duel again.”

Elizabeth slipped back and grabbed his face between her gloved hands. “Never, ever, _ever_ , sit down in the snow and go to sleep. You might freeze to death.” She shuddered. “One of my cousin Eddy’s friends froze to death two years ago. He was so cold… William, do not ever do that again.”

William smiled. “I promise.”

Elizabeth returned to her normal cheery self. “Now, I have something to tell you – and I am afraid I must vent a little annoyance at you. That was why I was so angry when you woke up.” She scrambled behind the hedges and dragged a stool under the tree. “Here, sit.”

William sat down. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth clambered up to the lowest branch, beside him, and spoke. “Papa’s cousin, Mr. Collins, arrived today. Apparently, he was supposed to arrive a month ago, but for a cold that kept him for a fortnight and the bad condition of the roads for the other fortnight.”

William frowned. “Does Mr. Collins’s Christian name happen to be William?”

Elizabeth stole his hat and twirled it. “I believe it is… Yes, it is.”

“I suppose he would be Aunt Catherine’s new rector at Hunsford Parish. Let me guess… he is the worst combination of puffed-up self-importance and fawning obsequiousness a man could ever be.”

Elizabeth laughed. "You have the right of it! I cannot believe such a dreadful man shares your name."

"Excuse me," William said, pretending to take offense, "I will have you know that my given name is _Fitzwilliam_ , and that most people call me William only out of habit!" Elizabeth would be quite taken in by his acting if there had not been such a bright telltale sparkle in his eyes.

"Still, many people think of you as William, including myself, which means that Mr. Collins shares your name at least in thought."

William raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should begin to address me as Fitzwilliam, or think of me as such, or else I might be tainted by association to Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth laughed and twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, pulling it affectionately before releasing it to bounce into his eyes. "Rather, Mr. Collins benefits from association to you! William, you are the only one of that name I think of that way. Mr. Collins is Collins, and Sir William is just that - _Sir_ William."

William smiled contentedly and scratched at the tree bark. “I am satisfied then.”

“And you? Do you know any who share my name?” Elizabeth asked archly.

William rolled his eyes and answered her: “I confess that I have a cousin who is named Elizabeth - one of the Fitzwilliams - but I call her Lily, not Elizabeth, Lizzy, or Beth, as I call you. And,” he added, frowning, “one of my friends, Frederick Cavendish, has a sister whose name is Elizabeth, though – to tell the truth – I despise her. She is a lady along the lines of Caroline Bingley. So, Lizzy, you really are the only Elizabeth, at least to me.”

"Why on earth do you call an Elizabeth _Lily?_ " Elizabeth asked incredulously.

William looked ashamed and amused at the same time. "Lily is Alexander's twin sister, and all three of us boys - Alex, Richard, and me - were told to call her Ellie. But Richard and I mispronounced it in infancy, so it became Lily instead."

Elizabeth pulled his hair. "I could never mispronounce Jane's name, but Mary, Kitty, and Lydia all mispronounced my name. I was introduced as Elizabeth, and it was only after they called me 'Izbit' that we told them to call me Lizzy instead."

"What of Mr. Collins? That is what you first discussed, is it not? So, can you endure your cousin for a while?"

Elizabeth made a face. "Not for long!”

“Speaking of long,” William said, checking his watch, “you and I must adjourn, for it is already eleven o’clock, and I must return to Netherfield before Miss Bingley comes looking for me herself.” He stood. “Goodbye, Elizabeth.”

“Goodbye, William.” Elizabeth pulled his hair again – gently – for good measure. “And take care of yourself.”

He nodded, picked up his cane, and began his journey to Netherfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So many kudos! Thank you to all of you (20) anonymous kudos-leavers, as well as be_kind_to_yourself, ILOVECANDY, AngelBells, alphera, mariahfaire, FanWriter23, hellaton, and thisismyhappyface! You all drive me to write on! Thank you.  
> Huge shoutout to thisismyhappyface and Fifteensweets for bookmarking my work! Cyber hugs for everyone!  
> Apologize for how long it took to say thank you. I was really busy with the paperwork I've had to do, and I was very short in my notes because I was in a hurry to post them.


	11. Of Happy Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, can you guess what line in this chapter is from a movie? Which movie is it, and who said it?  
> Sorry about not posting this on Christmas, but I had to move on with story, so here it is!

Elizabeth was caught up in a whirl of Christmas festivities the week before Christmas. The Gardiners arrived, and they all were welcomed by the Bennets, even by Kitty and Lydia.  
   
Elizabeth began to make and wrap gifts for family, friends, and tenants. With her efficiency and the help of several people, she finished before Christmas. There was a posy of paper flowers and a journal for Jane, several new books and new music for Mary, and a few meters of new ribbon each for Kitty and Lydia. Her father was to receive a new pocketbook of her sketches of various people and her descriptions of their personalities, while for her mother there was a new set of handkerchiefs.  
   
For Charlotte there were new pens (because Charlotte as always breaking hers) and a vial of perfume for Maria. For Uncle Gardiner, there was a painting of him reading to the Gardiner and Phillips children, while for Aunt Gardiner, there were some new books. Elizabeth had prepared a quilt for her young cousins Margaret and Madeleine, while she planned to give biscuits and skipping-ropes to twins Edward and Benedict.  
   
And, of course, there was Longbourn to prepare for Christmas. Everyone bustled about, straightening this picture or that cushion. The muddled conversations blended together to make a jumble to words and people talking to themselves.  
   
“Lydia, did you put the vase where I asked you to?”  
   
“Lizzy, have you seen my fan?”  
   
“No, sorry, Jane. – Mary, have you seen to Eddy and Ben’s room yet?”  
   
“No, I am supposed to practice ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’, remember?”  
   
“Has anyone seen Kitty?”  
   
“No, Lydia, why?”  
   
“She took my favourite red ribbon!”  
   
Such was Christmas at Longbourn. But Elizabeth always took comfort in the fact that they were warm, happy, and cosy, although this warmth was somewhat cooled by Mr. Collins, who stuck around Elizabeth like a burr. When Elizabeth turned to hang the mistletoe, he was behind her. When she stepped down to the kitchens to see to the biscuits for Eddy and Ben, he was trailing her like a shadow. When she went out to get supplies like ribbon and lace, he insisted on coming with her!  
   
_Even William, the most annoying overprotective friend in the whole world, is not this tenacious!_ Elizabeth thought in heated frustration.

The day before Christmas dawned with much trouble and bustle. Elizabeth woke, yawning, to an empty bed. Jane had already, apparently, gone downstairs. Elizabeth dressed and came down to breakfast, to find Mr. Bennet absorbed in his newspaper, Kitty and Lydia arguing over the shrimp, Jane trying to quiet them, Mary reading silently, and Mrs. Bennet prattling on about whatever. Mr. Collins was stridently objecting to his young cousins’ atrocious behaviour.  
   
“Good morning!” Elizabeth said. Everyone fell silent immediately. “I believe we have much to do today. Let us make haste, for we have only a few hours before Christmas Eve descends upon us!”  
   
“I cannot deny that Lizzy is correct,” Mr. Bennet said.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent in making last checks on the presents, avoiding Mr. Collins, playing in the snow with Victoria, avoiding Mr. Collins, making final changes to the menu, and… Yes, avoiding Mr. Collins.  
   
They attended the Christmas Eve service and returned to eat the traditional supper. But just as everyone gathered for supper, someone knocked on the door.  
   
The butler came in, looking baffled. “Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy is asking for you, an’ he waits in the parlour, Miss.”  
   
Elizabeth stood, also confused. “Very well, thank you, Anderson. I believe I can make my way to the parlour myself.” She went to the parlour, and sure enough, there, dressed in green and a top hat, stood William. “William, whatever are you doing here?”  
   
He blushed in embarrassment, but smiled. “I… came to see what a Bennet Christmas is like.” The sparkle in his eyes kindled. “It really is your own fault for inviting me all those years ago. Dare I intrude upon your family’s celebration?” He was tapping his cane on the floor nervously.  
   
Elizabeth grinned. Typical William.  “Of course. In fact, you are on time for supper. I can easily tell the servants to set another place. By the way, though, it might be a bit cramped, for the Gardiners are here for Christmas, and the children are allowed at table tonight.”  
   
William shrugged. “That is quite alright for me.” Suddenly he blushed even redder and looked down at his toes. “I might not be able to give this to you tomorrow, so, ah…” He fumbled in his coat for something, and handed it to her. It was a package about the length of a dinner knife and four times as wide, wrapped in red paper and tied with green ribbon. Hanging from the bow was a precisely cut yellow star. “Merry Christmas,” he said.  
   
Elizabeth flipped the tag over, and read: _For Elizabeth, my dearest friend and one of the most important people in my life. Thank you and Merry Christmas!_  
   
It was written in William’s recognizable, precise handwriting, and signed F.D. She smiled and looked up at him. “Thank you, William.” She wanted to hug him right then and there, but that would not do where the servants might see. Besides, she might knock him down and hurt him. He stared down at his boots again, but Elizabeth could see his flush.  
   
William nodded mutely. “May – may I go in?”  
   
“Oh!” Elizabeth smacked her forehead. “Of course. Forgive me. Come in, William.”  
   
Elizabeth led her guest to the dining hall, causing a stir when William bowed to everyone, even the Gardiners. If anyone was confused by the fact that the perfectly fit Mr. Darcy used a cane, they said nothing about it, for which Elizabeth was grateful. William spoke. “Good evening, all. I apologize for intruding, but I would like to stay for supper.” He anxiously looked around. “If that is agreeable to you, Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet.”  
   
Mr. Bennet shrugged. “I have no objection.”  
   
Mrs. Bennet, however, was effusive in her joy at having such an illustrious person as Mr. Darcy to supper. She fretted that her table was not half as fine as Mr. Darcy must be used to until William assured her that he had come to supper uninvited, and that if he did not like it, it would be his own fault. “Besides,” he said, “I would like to be treated as one of your own for the time being, if you would not mind.”  
   
“Of course not, Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet gushed.  
   
William remembered something. “Mrs. Bennet, I recall that Bingley wanted me to issue your family an invitation to a rather spontaneous ball at Netherfield, tomorrow evening.” He fumbled in his coat for a piece of paper, and handed it to Mrs. Bennet. “Here it is.”  
   
“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Bennet said civilly. William nodded, and Elizabeth said, “William, may I introduce you to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner?”  
   
“Of course, Miss Elizabeth. Lead the way.”  
   
Elizabeth noticed William staring at her aunt. “I believe I recognize your aunt.”  
   
“That is understandable, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “I am the daughter of the bookseller in Lambton, Mr. Taylor.” She curtsied, and, to everyone’s surprise, William bowed back.  
   
Elizabeth smiled as she left William deep in conversation with her aunt about books, and ordered the servants to set another place at table. They complied, and Elizabeth remembered William’s gift. She scrambled up the stairs, his gift to her in hand, and opened her little sack of presents. Finally she drew out a little box she had secretly bought in Longbourn Village a few days ago. She opened it, and the cufflinks inside glinted, the cerulean blue centre catching the light, sparkling like William’s eyes.  
   
She smiled, grabbed the material for wrapping it from her desk, and tied it off with a blue ribbon. Elizabeth ran down just in time to crash into William. He yelped in pain and stumbled into Mr. Collins, who was directly behind him.  
   
William sat up, groaning. “Ouch…” He managed to get to his feet with the help of his cane, and to assist Mr. Collins – who scampered away immediately – as well. Finally, he noticed the package, which had skittered away. “Elizabeth, is this yours?” he asked, picking it up and offering it to the lady, who had also scrambled to her feet.  
   
Elizabeth shook her head. “It actually belongs to you, William.”  
   
He smiled happily, his teeth flashing, the sparkle in his eyes lighting. “Thank you.” He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He closed it again, then blurted out, “Do you mind if I open it now?”  
   
“No, not particularly. You may go ahead.”  
   
William untied the ribbon and put it in his pocket, then carefully and methodically undid the wrapper. He looked inside and delight filled his face. Picking up the new cufflinks, he fastened them on. “Thank you, again, Elizabeth.” As if remembering, he offered her his arm. “Your mother sent me to tell you that supper is ready and that we may all assemble in the dining hall.”

* * *

Supper passed well. Unfortunately, William was seated next to Mrs. Bennet, both of whom were not very interested in conversation with the other. William talked to Mary, who sat beside him, and tried to engage Mr. Collins – not that that man needed it, since he chattered on like a train regardless of whether or not he had listeners. Mr. Collins did not seem to recognize that he was speaking to the nephew of his patroness, and Elizabeth, who sat to her father’s right, was glad for that, because if Collins had known it, he would have been much louder. That would be disastrous.  
   
After supper, the ladies adjourned to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to talk over port, with the exception of the Gardiners, who, with their yawning children, went upstairs to the nursery. Elizabeth joined Jane on the settee, with Jane looking slightly confused. “Lizzy,” she said, “why did Mr. Darcy come to supper tonight? No one ever comes here at Christmas except for Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.”  
   
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Jane, are you disappointed Mr. Bingley did not come with him?”  
   
Jane blushed, but nodded.  
   
Elizabeth laughed. “That is because I invited Mr. Darcy to Longbourn many years ago, and I have been held to my word!”  
   
Jane smiled brightly. “At least we are invited to the Netherfield ball tomorrow.”  
   
“Yes, and you will see your dear Mr. Bingley again.”  
   
“He is not _my_ Mr. Bingley, Lizzy!”  
   
“Oh really? Then look at him staring at you tomorrow evening and say that again!”  
   
Elizabeth teased Jane until the gentlemen entered, sans Mr. Bennet but accompanied by the adult Gardiners. Elizabeth asked, “Mary, would you please begin playing the Christmas songs? If you like, one of the others can turn the pages for you. I will go get Papa out of his library.”  
   
Mary smiled and obliged, while Elizabeth went out to look for her father in his library. “Papa?”  
   
“Yes, Lizzy.” Mr. Bennet sounded resigned.

"Come out, please. It is time to sing around the tree and exchange presents, you know."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Of course, Lizzy. Your mother would not be pleased if I ignored you." He stood and said, "I will follow you later, Lizzy. I must clean up a few things here, and sort out some paperwork. Go ahead, I shall be along shortly."

Elizabeth nodded and left. Mr. Bennet sighed and sat back down to replace his bookmark and put the book back on its shelf. Lately, the Christmas tradition had become stale, for while Mr. Bennet truly loved his family - even his silly wife - they grated on his nerves sometimes.

Perhaps he should try and give them a chance. Tonight was Christmas Eve, after all, and Mr. Darcy had bested him in tolerance to his family. Granted, Mr. Darcy did not have to live with them all the time, but he was still polite and respectful even to the silly younger girls.

Mr. Bennet cleared his desk, put the finished papers in his drawers, and went to the drawing room. He paused at the door as he took in a beautiful sight.

Elizabeth was playing 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen' with a smile on her face, while standing next to her, turning the pages, sang Mr. Darcy. _Mr. Darcy_ , singing! His fine baritone voice struck the notes perfectly, making the perfect complement to Elizabeth's soprano as they sang.

Mary was also singing next to them, with Jane beside her helping her carry the alto. Kitty and Lydia strengthened their sister Elizabeth's part with their pure voices, for once not giggling or snickering. Mrs. Bennet - Frances - was also singing, in the voice that had so captivated Mr. Bennet in their youth. Even the stupid Mr. Collins sang, his tenor voice sometimes shaking, but never missing the notes. Perhaps Mr. Bennet had underestimated his cousin.

The Christmas tree winked behind them with the light of a hundred candles and the reflection of the star on top, shining on the happy scene below.

Mr. Bennet smiled and joined in the singing for the last verse and chorus, and when everyone was finished, he said, quietly, to his wife, "Fanny."

She jumped, and said, "Why, Mr. Bennet! You startled me! Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?" Her familiar complaint made him smile. "Well, my dear, I believe your nerves will soon be soothed by a song for us, if you please?"

Mrs. Bennet smiled. Her husband had never asked her to sing for them before. "Very well, if you insist, _Thomas_ ," she shot back at him. "Which would you all like?" she asked the company, feeling particularly peaceful this evening despite her earlier avowal about her nerves.

"Oh! 'Carol of the Bells', mama, and may we all sing it with you?" Lydia exclaimed excitedly. Mrs. Bennet nodded. "Of course, Lydia dear."

Elizabeth smiled, and put her fingers to the keys. Mrs. Bennet sang the first lines before being joined by everyone: Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Lydia taking the soprano part, Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary taking the alto, Mr. Collins singing the tenor, and William and Mr. Bennet singing the bass. They all sang the song twice, with one or two wrong notes but a nice tone.

They sang several more carols before the gift exchange. Luckily, Mr. Collins was perfectly all right with no gifts and magnanimously assured his cousins that he would not hold it against them. Mr. Darcy also had no presents (or so they thought) but he was much more sincere about being alright with it than Mr. Collins, which was surprising. Even more surprising was when he slipped away to the parlour and brought back a small sack like the girls carried into the room.

* * *

When the Bennets had all given, received, and opened their family's gifts to and from them, Mr. Darcy astonished them all by withdrawing presents for them from his own sack. For Mr. Bennet, there was a new play of Shakespeare - one he did not have in his library yet; for Mrs. Bennet there were - appropriately, and causing much laughter even from that lady herself - new smelling salts, which elicited an embarrassed look from their giver. For Jane there was a vial of her favorite scent, for Mary there was new sheet music and ribbon, which made her smile. Finally, for Kitty and Lydia, there were new dancing slippers.

"I chose them with the help of my sister," he admitted, sheepishly handing the girls their packages. They squealed in delight upon seeing what was inside, and thanked him, which was a new thing for them.

William brought out a book of sermons for Mr. Collins, for which he was thanked profusely. A pocketbook and pen were for Mr. Gardiner - which surprised all of them since they were perfectly suited to the well-organized Edward Gardiner - and new books for Mrs. Gardiner and a letter from her father, which delighted her to no end.

His presents to the Gardiner children he gave to the parents: chocolates, little sacks of sand, and small stones for the little boys, which he explained were for hopscotch, and a set of Spillikins sticks for the little girls.

Mary noticed something. "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy, for asking, but where is Lizzy's present?"

Elizabeth flushed and ran up to her room to get it.

"Well, open it, my child, open it!" Mr. Bennet encouraged her. "Everyone has already opened theirs."

Elizabeth smiled and opened her package as carefully as William had opened his present from her. She was delighted at the new pack of pencils she found within, as well as an elegant pen and penknife. Elizabeth admired the smooth pen, and penknife handle, but hid her gasp when she realized that her name was engraved on both the pen cap and the penknife handle. "William, thank you."

He raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You thanked me earlier, did you not?"

"Oh, yes, I did, but that was before I opened your present! It came just in time; my pencils were finishing themselves."

William checked his watch. "Well, it is eleven, and I had better return to Netherfield. Thank you, goodnight, and Merry Christmas Eve to all of you!" He bowed to everyone, smiled, and moved out of the door.

Soon the goodnights were said, and the Bennet and Gardiner families moved upstairs for bed. Only then did it hit Elizabeth. William's watch. Had it not been that watch she gave him on his sixteenth birthday? Yes, it had!

Why did he still use that thing? It had been eleven years since then, and the watch was most likely worn out by now. He could have replaced it by now, especially since it was rather small. Why had he not replaced it? What was so special about that watch?

* * *

William was content as he rode to Netherfield that night.

His horse's footsteps crunched in the snow, and his greatcoat flapped in the wind. Other than that, there was nothing but the sound of the crickets to keep him company, so he hummed.

Eventually, though, that petered out as he thought about his evening at the Bennets'. It had been very agreeable - in fact, he liked it very much. It had been years and years since he had had a proper family Christmas, and the Bennet Christmas had reminded him just how nice it really was to have a family.

His leg twinged painfully, and he groaned. "Shut it, Darcy," he muttered savagely. "You have endured worse than this."

 _Worse than this... oh God_. Immediately the burn in his heart started again. The emotional pain was so great that it caused physical pain, and William wanted to tear his heart out because of the pain it gave him.

 _No, it is not exactly pain to love. It is pain when the one you loved, you could never have._ It was not about the petty societal rules about who he should or should not marry, it was about her free will. William did not want to take advantage of her compassion to shackle her to him, a man she did not love more than a brother.

 _Of all the weapons_ , William thought grimly, _I now know love to be the most dangerous. Of all the pain I have ever endured, I now know heartache to be the most acute. Of all the thoughts I have pushed away, I know unrequited love to be the most painful. Elizabeth, if you only knew!_

But he smiled. He was her dearest friend. That was the most he could hope for, and he was happy. This Christmas had been one of the happiest of his life. He would never forget it. With Elizabeth's gift fastened in his cuffs, he rode to Netherfield. These had been happy holidays indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, Spillikins is an older version of pickup sticks. You try to move one stick at a time without disturbing the others. Another term is jackstraws.  
> Please comment if you think you know the answer to the challenge!  
> Thank you to ElizabethStarkweatherGray, oichealainn, and those 10 kudos-leavers! Thank you to Dragon_Age_Fan and AbbyMaitland91 for the kudos - and a special shoutout to ardj18 and AbbyMaitland91 for bookomarking my work! Your support means the world to me.


	12. Of Dances and Dunces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being so long! I had no idea the Netherfield Ball and Collins's proposal would take so many words! Don't worry, it's worth it. You'll need it to understand the next chapter, which is unluckily thirteen. Plus, there are Darcy/Lizzy cute moments!  
> So, has anyone figured out the challenge from Chapter 11? Well, it turns out Azaelle is RIGHT! Ding ding ding! (lamest sound effect ever). The line: 'Of all the weapons, I now know love to be the most dangerous' comes from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, the 2016 movie! And yes, it was said by Mr. Darcy in his voice-over letter to Elizabeth after that disastrous proposal at Hunsford.

The next morning was flurry of preparation for Mr. Bingley's ball that evening, and Elizabeth and Mary could not help but roll their eyes. The amount of attention Mrs. Bennet gave Bingley's attachment to Jane was ludicrous. Elizabeth could not help but think, _What if she was to see me with William? Oh God, there would be no end to it if Mama ever saw me talk to William in the morning_.

Luckily, Mrs. Bennet never paid any mind to where Elizabeth disappeared to most mornings.

* * *

As the carriage stopped in front of Netherfield Hall, Elizabeth saw Bingley waiting below for Jane, in the most charming way. And she spied William lingering behind the door, looking very uncomfortable. _Poor man, Bingley and his sister probably dragged him over here_.

"Mr. Darcy?" she asked as she drew level with him. He sighed and shook his head, jerking it in indication of Miss Bingley, who sat near the dance floor, watching them like a hawk. She grinned at his obvious discomposure at being watched, and sat down next to Charlotte.

Perhaps she should not have been surprised, though she very much was when William walked up to them. "Miss Elizabeth, may I have the next dance?"

Elizabeth smiled apologetically and answered, "Forgive me, but no. Mr. Collins has already engaged me for the first two sets."

An unidentifiable flash lit up his eyes for a second before he amended, "May I have the dance after those, then?"

"Of course, sir."

Collins tried to engage her in conversation about the many virtues of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, all while stepping painfully on her feet and getting the dance steps wrong, time after time. Elizabeth felt her annoyance grow until she felt ready to snap at anyone or anything.

After coming back from the second dance, they passed by William, who seem to wriggle once as though suppressing an urge, but walked on by as though nothing had happened. Collins, however, began to start off in a new vein: "I have found out," he started, "by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. I happened to overhear the gentleman himself mentioning to the young lady who does the honours of the house the names of his cousin Miss de Bourgh, and of her mother Lady Catherine. How wonderfully these sort of things occur! Who would have thought of my meeting with, perhaps, a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh in this assembly! I am most thankful that the discovery is made in time for me to pay my respects to him, which I am now going to do, and trust he will excuse my not having done it before. My total ignorance of the connection must plead my apology."

Elizabeth was immediately distracted by trying to find a way out of this, to spare William the pain of introduction with the man. "Surely you are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy?"

"Indeed I am. I shall entreat his pardon for not having done it earlier. I believe him to be Lady Catherine's _nephew._ It will be in my power to assure him that her ladyship was quite well yesterday se'nnight." With that he primed up his cravat and was off.

Elizabeth very much doubted whether or not William would care about how his aunt was eight days ago, or that he would enjoy her cousin's company. To her astonishment and mortification, Collins actually marched straight up to William and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Mr. Darcy."

William apparently did not hear, as he was deep in conversation with Bingley, and so Collins tried again. "Mr. Darcy."

William made no response, still listening intently to his friend.

Collins cleared his throat loudly, attracting not only William's attention, but the attention of everyone in a five-meter radius at least. " _Ahem_ , Mr. Darcy!"

William turned around. "Yes, Mr. Collins?"

Elizabeth winced as Collins’s voice – amazingly – dropped to conversational volume. She could not hear him from here, but she could see the twitch of disgust and contempt on William’s face, even as he listened patiently to Mr. Collins’s prattling.

But William excused himself and walked over to Elizabeth. He was healed enough not to use his cane for a while, and he chose not to use it tonight, though he could not go without for more than one or two days. Still, he walked with a noticeable limp, and when he accidentally barked his shin or when someone kicked it, his face contorted in pain, and he would have to sit down.

“I believe this is the dance you promised me, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, offering his arm as he escorted her to the dance floor.

William, despite his injured leg, was a very adept dancer, and the grace with which he stepped made Elizabeth feel clumsy. The dance was quick, but he danced it with as much certainty as a slow dance, and not once did he stumble or slip. Only his forbidding air marred the image he presented, so Elizabeth sought to put him at ease.

“Thank you for tolerating my cousin, Mr. Darcy,” she remarked. “He can be very tiring at times.”

William shrugged. “Once you have tolerated enough of my aunt’s rectors, it all simply glances off of you. I fall half-asleep, and yet I am standing, whenever one of those sleep-inducing, trying-to-my-patience men stands to talk to me.” He cocked his head. “Although I must admit Mr. Collins has a more than tolerable singing voice. He carried that part in ‘Carol of the Bells’ very well.”

“One of the only things he has ever learned right, I would think!” Elizabeth chuckled. William looked stern. “Stop that. He is your cousin, and you should not make fun of him in such a public place. Perhaps tomorrow,” he smirked, “you will be able to mock him all you like, to me.”

“Oh, of course, sir.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “But he is so much more trying now than tomorrow that I shall not savor my revenge tomorrow as much as I would like it now.”

“Perhaps you should ask him to be as vexing tomorrow morning as this evening, so that you might thoroughly enjoy your ‘revenge’, as you put it,” William bantered.

“Then he would have an unpaid repentance for this evening! William, if he went on like this tomorrow, I shall complain of tomorrow, not tonight, and so tonight shall be wasted.”

“What would make you consider this evening not wasted?” William asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Nothing short of avoiding his talk until I run upstairs and to bed,” Elizabeth said, glancing at her cousin. “He is so boring, William. I have not discovered anything he truly likes except for singing. In everything else, he trumpets his patroness’s opinions instead of his own.”

“And for someone who is used to voicing her own opinions whether her listener likes it or no, it must be frustration itself to converse with a person who has no actual opinion of his own, and defers to another for everything,” William observed, taking her gloved hand as the dance required.

“That is correct, though I have no idea how you know.”

“Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth! I have been close friends with said opinionated person for fourteen years of my life – how could I not know?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Touché, Mr. Darcy! You have me there!”

He looked surprised. “How do you know that word? I have only ever heard it used by men, and men who fenced at that – myself included.”

Elizabeth poked his arm. “You have forgotten the man in my family – my father. He used to fence in his youth – he still keeps his old foil – and he remembers many of the terms, touché being the one he used with me.”

“Well, touché to that, Miss Elizabeth!” William declared. They stared at each other for another three minutes, then broke off into laughter, each enjoying their quick banter as much as the other.

“You are so much more interesting than my cousin, William,” Elizabeth began again, and was immediately countered.

“Is that the only reason you talk to me – because I am more interesting than your cousin?” William asked, raising an eyebrow.

Elizabeth decided to play a little longer. “Yes, and because your wit is the only other besides my father which can keep track of mine.”

William laughed. “How strict you are, Miss Elizabeth, when it comes to your friends!”

“Not when it is about my relatives, however,” she observed, pulling a face.

“For all their follies,” reminded William, “they are your family, and I daresay there is something loveable underneath all those foibles and faults. You only have to look for them. Mary, for instance, suffers for lack of attention. Your mother fusses over Miss Jane, Miss Catherine, and Miss Lydia, while your father’s favourite is you. Where does that leave her?”

Elizabeth looked at him earnestly. “Where did you learn all this?”

He smiled. “Look at my family. Aunt Catherine is officious and authoritative, but she truly wants to help people. It is only that, as the eldest child of an Earl, she was taught the wrong way to do it. My mother was painfully shy – like me – but pig-headed in her stubbornness. Mother always helped people, however, and it hurt her generous heart to look on hardship.”

“What about your other aunt and uncle?”

“Uncle de Bourgh, before his death, was an eccentric man, always cooped up in his library, and let his wife run their household. That sounds like a certain person’s mother I know,” William commented, looking at Mrs. Bennet, who was sitting next to Lady Lucas. “Aunt and Uncle Matlock, while gentle, are rather snobbish, and would not like you, Elizabeth, until they really came to know you. Their pride is their downfall,” he said, “like it once was for me.”

Elizabeth turned around and curtsied as the dance ended. William led her back to Charlotte as Mr. Bingley claimed Elizabeth for the supper set. William asked, before letting her release his arm, “May I have the last dance, Miss Elizabeth?”

“You may, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, and he moved away to dance with Jane.

* * *

Afterwards, William came back to escort her to the dining hall. However much Elizabeth had tried to avoid her mother – who was talking on and on about the advantages about Jane’s presumed marriage to Bingley – she found with great chagrin that they were seated only one person apart, on the same side. William, who was seated next to Caroline Bingley, unfortunately, was directly across from Mrs. Bennet, and painfully close to the rest of her family.

Mrs. Bennet, seemingly oblivious, prattled on, “Bingley is so charming, and so rich – five thousand a year, indeed! And he lives but three miles from Longbourn! It is such a comfort to think how fond the two sisters are of Jane, and to be certain that they must desire the connection as much as I can do! Moreover, it is such a promising thing for dear Kitty and Lydia, as Jane’s marrying so greatly must throw them in the way of other rich men. And lastly, it is so pleasant at my time of life to be able to entrust my single daughters to the care of their sister, so that I might not be obliged to go into company more than I like.” She fanned herself in self-congratulation. “I hope, Lady Lucas, that you might be equally fortunate in the near future!” Her eyes flickered over William.

Elizabeth blushed to the tips of her ears. “Mama!” she hissed. “Please be quiet!” She glanced at William, who had clearly overheard the whole. “Mr. Darcy overheard you!”

"What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him? I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear."

"For heaven's sake, Mama, speak lower. What advantage can it be for you to offend Mr. Darcy? You will never recommend yourself to his friend by doing so!"

Nothing that she could say, however, had any influence. Mrs. Bennet determinedly talked on to Lady Lucas. Elizabeth blushed again as she spied Miss Bingley’s contempt-filled glare. William was turned away from her, but Elizabeth saw the rigidity of his shoulders that indicated he did not like what he was hearing.

Elizabeth blushed again as William turned back to her, the stiffness relaxing as he ended his conversation with Miss Bingley. Elizabeth realized that his severe austerity had been because of Miss Bingley, not her mother. He caught her eye, smiled and nodded encouragingly, indicated her mother, and shook his head to say that he did not mind.

Elizabeth was relieved; however, her peace did not last long, for soon after that supper was over, and singing was mentioned. Mary, having only a very little bit of encouragement, prepared to oblige the company. No matter what her next eldest sister tried to do to discourage her, Mary took her place at the pianoforte, and began. Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with the most painful sensations, and she watched her progress through the several stanzas with an impatience which was very ill rewarded at their close. Mary received a bit of clapping, and a hint of hope that she might perform again, and started up after only half a minute.

In agony of mortification, Elizabeth looked at William, who stood next to her. He looked at her, and reassured her once again with a smile and a nod. He leaned down to whisper, “Perhaps your father might want to engage a music master for Miss Mary as he did for your drawing.”

Elizabeth sighed. “But he will not go to the trouble of finding one.”

William winked. “That is easily remedied. I believe I can locate Georgiana’s old music master and recommend him to Mr. Bennet.”

Elizabeth smiled at him. “Why are you being so kind, William?”

There was a flash, unidentifiable, in his eyes, but of a different sort from before, and he murmured, “There are some people I would move heaven and earth for, and you are one of them.” With that he sighed and attended to Miss Bingley, who, fortunately, had not heard their exchange. Elizabeth had seen her making signs of derision to her sister, and her sister to her. Bingley, however, was absorbed in talking to Jane.

Elizabeth, hearing Mary nearly at the close of her song, moved over to her father and whispered, “Papa, I have something I wish to talk to you and Mary about. Would you please call her?”

“Of course, Lizzy,” he said, clearing his throat. “Mary,” he called, as soon as Mary was finished, “your sister and I want to discuss your music with you. Come here, child.”

Mary came over obligingly, and Elizabeth said seriously, “Mary, would you like Papa to hire a music master for you? I believe it would greatly expand your horizons and improve the quality of your music. I also think you might learn to enjoy the music for itself.”

“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet objected, “you know I cannot find a decent music master here or in Longbourn, nor, indeed, in all of Hertfordshire.”

“Papa, William’s sister, Georgiana, is quite accomplished in music and the pianoforte, and he offered to find her old music master and recommend him to you. What do you say to that?”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “That young man! Well, I trust his judgment, since he recommended your drawing master, Lizzy, and look how well that turned out. Very well indeed. So, yes, I agree. What of you, Mary? For we can do nothing if you do not desire it.”

Mary looked hesitantly from her father to her sister. “Papa, if it is no great expense –”

“If you wished it, Mary, I would spend what savings I have,” Mr. Bennet interrupted.

Mary smiled. “I do wish to learn to love music for itself, and to do it better, Papa.”

“Well then, that is settled,” Mr. Bennet concluded. “Lizzy, you can tell Darcy his offer is gratefully accepted.

Since the pianoforte now lay vacant, others of the party were now applied to.

"If I," Collins remarked, "were so fortunate as to be able to play, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air; for I consider music as a very innocent diversion, and perfectly compatible with the profession of a clergyman. I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to. The rector of a parish has much to do. In the first place, he must make such an agreement for tithes as may be beneficial to himself and not offensive to his patron. He must write his own sermons; and the time that remains will not be too much for his parish duties, and the care and improvement of his dwelling, which he cannot be excused from making as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that he should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everybody, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment. I cannot acquit him of that duty; nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family." And with a bow to Mr. Darcy, he concluded his speech, which had been spoken so loud as to be heard by half the room.

Mr. Bennet looked the most amused of them all, though his wife looked very pleased, seriously commended Mr. Collins for having spoken so sensibly, and observed in a half-whisper to Lady Lucas, that he was a remarkably clever, good kind of young man.

Elizabeth flushed in embarrassment as William nodded to Collins, nothing of his disgust or contempt leaking to the surface, except for his feet tapping impatiently on the floor. In this, his reclusive reticence was his ally.

To Elizabeth it appeared that, had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or finer success. To her relief, William did not mind, as he continually sought to reassure her by a simple soothing smile, or a nod. Bingley spent all his time with Jane, and so noticed only a few of the exhibitions. Besides, thankfully, what little he did notice he did not seem to hold against Jane herself. That his two sisters, however, should have such an opportunity of ridiculing her relations, was bad enough.

The rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins, who continued most perseveringly – and annoyingly – by her side. Though he could not prevail on her to dance with him again, put it out of her power to dance with any other. He brushed off all her entreaties to stand up with somebody else, and all her offers for introductions, and instead assured her, “My dear cousin, I am totally indifferent to dancing! My chief object, on the contrary, is to recommend myself to you, and I should therefore make a point of remaining close to you the whole evening.”

Like a concrete blessing from heaven, Charlotte came to distract Mr. Collins, and William appeared to stand up with her for the last dance.

He seemed to be limping slightly more than usual, and his face twitched in pain whenever he stepped with his left leg. “What is it, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth asked, concerned. She made him stop and sit down.

William took a deep breath and said, “Nothing at all, Miss Elizabeth, I assure you. It is only that some poor careless soul accidentally kicked her heel back into the very place my wound was.”

Elizabeth pestered him until he grudgingly admitted, “It was your mother.”

He held up a warning hand. “No, do not apologize. Your mother has already done that, and you need not add to it. Come, the music is starting, and we must join the dance.”

William was not much up to conversation since his barely healed wound had been aggravated by Mrs. Bennet’s careless mistake. However, they passed most of the dance in companionable silence, and they savoured every bit of banter they could exchange.

The Longbourn party were the last of all the company to depart. By a manoeuvre of Mrs. Bennet, they had to wait for their carriage a quarter of an hour after everybody else was gone, which gave them time to see how heartily they were wished away by some of the family. Mrs. Hurst and her sister scarcely opened their mouths, except to complain of fatigue, and were evidently impatient to have the house to themselves. This silence was not helped by Mr. Collins, who made long-winded speeches thanking and commending the Bingleys.

Bingley talked away to Jane, but William, who was fatigued though he did not proclaim it, and anxious not to expose Elizabeth to her mother’s machinations, said nothing at all. _Poor man_ , Elizabeth thought, _he is falling asleep already_.

And this was true. William’s eyes drooped, and he frequently dozed off for minutes on end, before starting awake and murmuring an apology.

But Elizabeth caught him gazing at her more than once. Once, when he thought no one was looking (only Elizabeth actually was), she found his expression of the kind he usually reserved for the mornings… and something more. In the slight smile about his lips, and the emotion that filled his eyes, Elizabeth saw something of the adoration with which he looked at Georgiana. Yet there was something different there as well… what on earth was it?

Elizabeth preserved as steady a silence as either Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley; and even Lydia was too much fatigued to utter more than the occasional exclamation of "Lord, how tired I am!" accompanied by a violent yawn. Mr. Bennet was as sleepy as William, but refrained from dozing off. Mary was austerely awake, Kitty followed Lydia’s example. Mr. Collins seemed as wide awake as ever, unfortunately.

When at length they arose to take leave, Mrs. Bennet was most pressingly civil in her hope of seeing the whole family soon at Longbourn, and addressed herself especially to Mr. Bingley: “Oh, Mr. Bingley, we do most sincerely hope that you will come to Longbourn and dine with us! There is no need to bother with invitations; you would make us very happy indeed!”

Bingley was all grateful pleasure. “Thank you, Mrs. Bennet, and I assure you, I will take the first opportunity to do so. As it is, I must away to London for a time, but I will return with all speed possible. Thank you, again!” he said, elbowing William awake.

“Oh! Goodnight, Mr. Bennet,” William murmured sleepily, getting to his feet and bowing or nodding to each of the Bennets as the passed him on the way out. “Goodnight, Mrs. Bennet. Goodnight, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary.” He snuck Elizabeth a smile that was for her alone. “Goodnight, Miss Catherine, Miss Lydia.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Darcy,” everyone said to him as they passed him. William nodded to Mr. Collins, who – stupid man – was in ecstasy the whole way home about his reception by Mr. Darcy.

Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, was caught up in the delightful prospect of having a daughter settled at Netherfield in three or four months. She was equally certain of having another daughter securely married to Mr. Collins, and she did not mind giving her up. Elizabeth, though Mrs. Bennet was still very fond of her, was the least dear to her of all her children, and though Mr. Collins and Hunsford were all quite good enough for her, they were both eclipsed by Mr. Bingley and Netherfield.

* * *

The morning after the ball, Mr. Collins happened to find Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and Kitty all in the sitting room. "May I hope, madam, for your interest with your fair daughter Elizabeth, when I solicit for the honour of a private audience with her in the course of this morning?"

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered instantly, "Oh dear!—yes—certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy—I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty, I want you up stairs." With that she and Kitty whisked out of sight, leaving Elizabeth, still astonished, alone with Mr. Collins. Elizabeth made as if to leave, when this from Mr. Collins stopped her:

"My dear Miss Elizabeth, believe me that your modesty, so far from doing you any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you, that I have your respected mother's permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it would be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying—and, moreover, for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did."

The idea of the forever composed and poised Mr. Collins being run away with his feelings was almost enough to make Elizabeth laugh – it was more ridiculous than suggesting to Mr. Collins that William could laugh until he was out of breath.

"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish; secondly, that I am convinced that it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.

“Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion (unasked too) on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford—between our pools at quadrille, while Mrs. Jenkinson was arranging Miss de Bourgh's footstool, that she said, 'Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.'

“Allow me, by the way, my fair cousin, to observe that I do not reckon the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh as among the least of the advantages in my power to offer. You will find her manners beyond anything I can describe; and your wit and vivacity, I think, must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which her rank will inevitably excite. Thus much for my general intention in favour of matrimony; it remains to be told why my views were directed towards Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer), I could not satisfy myself without resolving to choose a wife from among his daughters, that the loss to them might be as little as possible, when the melancholy event takes place—which, however, as I have already said, may not be for several years. This has been my motive, my fair cousin, and I flatter myself it will not sink me in your esteem. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. To fortune I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father, since I am well aware that it could not be complied with; and that one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours till after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to. On that head, therefore, I shall be uniformly silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married."

Elizabeth absolutely had to interrupt him now.

"You are too hasty, sir," she cried. "You forget that I have no answer. Let me do it immediately! Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to accept them.”

"I am not now to learn," replied Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand, "that it is usual with young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept, when he first applies for their favour; and that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second, or even a third time. I am therefore by no means discouraged by what you have just said, and shall hope to lead you to the altar ere long."

“I should say your hope is a hope _less_ one, Mr. Collins!” Elizabeth burst out. “I assure you that I am not one of those young ladies, if such exist! I am perfectly serous in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am certain I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. I would think Lady Catherine would not approve of me, sir,” she tried, appealing to the part of him that sought Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s favour.

"Were it certain that Lady Catherine would think so," Mr. Collins answered very gravely— "but I cannot imagine that her ladyship would at all disapprove of you. And you may be certain when I have the honour of seeing her again, I shall speak in the very highest terms of your modesty, economy, and other amiable qualification."

“You need not praise me, Mr Collins,” Elizabeth broke in. “In proposing to me, you have discharged your perceived duty, and may inherit Longbourn whenever my father dies, with no ill will from any of us, or from yourself.”

"When I do myself the honour of speaking to you next on the subject, I shall hope to receive a more favourable answer than you have now given me; though I am far from accusing you of cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your sex to reject a man on the first application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my suit as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character."

" _Really_ , Mr. Collins," cried Elizabeth with some warmth, "you puzzle me! If all I have said until this point is to be taken as encouragement, I know not how to convince you of my certainty."

"You must give me leave to flatter myself that your refusal of my addresses is merely words of course. My reasons for believing it are briefly these: It does not appear to me that my hand is unworthy your acceptance, or that the establishment I can offer would be any other than highly desirable. My situation in life, my connections with the family of de Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favour; and you should take it into further consideration, that in spite of your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made you. Your portion is unhappily so small that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications. As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall choose to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”

“Then you must regard me as a woman apart from those elegant females you described, Mr. Collins, for I am perfectly serious.”

They haggled on like this for above half-an-hour – most of which time was Mr. Collins’s fault – until Mrs. Bennet poked her head inside and beckoned Elizabeth to her.

“Lizzy, how can you vex me so?! Think, child, think! Use those brains of yours! When you marry Mr. Collins, you will have secured Longbourn for your sisters and me when your father dies!”

“Mama, I shall not marry for anything other than the deepest love, no matter our circumstances! You cannot make me marry Mr. Collins without my free choice to do so!” With that Elizabeth dashed out of the door and towards Netherfield, towards William.

Sure enough, he sat under the tree, patiently waiting for her. He smiled and stood as she came into sight, and waved. Elizabeth smiled and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. He laughed and twirled her around. “Good morning, Lizzy, what shall we talk of today? Miss Bingley was her usual grumpy self, and Charles did a great deal for me in helping me avoid her.”

Elizabeth made a face. “William, you will not believe what happened!”

“Now stop that, Lizzy, you sound like your sister Lydia when you say it like that,” he reprimanded gently.

She laughed and sat down under the tree with him beside her. He was not well enough to climb yet, though he would be come January. “Mr. Collins proposed to me, William, that is what happened.”

Immediately she could feel a change in him. His calm demeanour shifted into stressed overdrive. A slightly alarmed mask froze his face in one direction – that of Longbourn; which for William was something like screaming aloud. “You refused him, I suppose?” he said, sounding out the syllables slowly and methodically. It seemed as though he was striving not to let something loose.

Elizabeth laughed. “Of course I did! What did you think I would do?”

The change back was as quick as the first change. He relaxed again, and leaned against the trunk. “How was it?”

“Mama was practically in fits and hysterics once I had done,” Elizabeth giggled. William chuckled as well, and turned his eyes lazily upwards as he – inadvertently, it seemed – drew her to him with an arm about her shoulders. They talked well into the afternoon, and Elizabeth had never felt so free as when she confided her soul’s troubles to William.

* * *

“So,” he said, as he was turning away, “did you enjoy your revenge against your cousin?”

Elizabeth grinned impishly. “I have never felt more free, William, and it is thanks to you.”

He allowed a bit of his soul to shine through to her, and a flash of something lit up his face and his eyes, and touched a smile to his lips. It was too short for her to be sure of anything, but… was that the same look she had seen at Netherfield last night?

It might have been a trick of the light, that look of tenderness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ayzaria08 for bookmarking 'A Little Pride and Prejudice'! Shoutout!


	13. Of Sorrow and Solutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to BelieverOfTheFandoms, Trenaed, and fhgrl26 for leaving kudos!

Unfortunately, Mr. Collins was persuaded by Mrs. Bennet to stay until Saturday. While Elizabeth still snuck out to talk to William of everything in the mornings, she stayed in her room most of the time.  
   
What William did not know, however, was that Mrs. Bennet had taken one of the keys to Elizabeth’s bedroom, and slipped into her daughter’s room every day to berate her about her refusal. Therefore, on Saturday morning, William was perched in the tree, having climbed up with great difficulty so he could see Elizabeth coming.  
   
When she appeared, looking distressed and burdened, he gave a cry (however soft it was), clambered down, ignoring the pain in his leg, and impulsively wrapped his arms around her. “Elizabeth! What happened? What has you looking so sad today?” He sat her down and waited.  
   
Elizabeth gave him a sad smile, possibly the saddest one he had ever seen, besting even the ones Georgiana had given him last summer. “Mr. Collins proposed again, this morning, before he left.”  
   
William nodded, having seen Collins’s carriage depart earlier. Suddenly a realization grabbed him like a vise, and he cried out, “You have not accepted him!” He grabbed her shoulders and made her face him, his alarm showing in every line of his face. “Have you?”  
   
She nodded mutely, and began to cry. William, tamping down his own aw anguish and shock, took her head and put it on his shoulder, rocking back and forth, as he had comforted her when they were children. His own eyes blinked but stayed dry; Elizabeth needed his strength right now, he could not cry. He tried to lend her his courage and resolve, tried to heal this wound like he had so many others, but he felt so helpless.  
   
“I – I felt like I had to,” Elizabeth hiccupped, raising her head and wiping her face. William offered her his handkerchief, biting his lip until he drew blood to keep from weeping. She went on, “I wanted – to – to save – our – family’s – house for – us… Mama told me – it was – my duty.”  
   
The anger William felt that moment flooded his body and brought the tears to his eyes. “Go on, Elizabeth, you know you can say anything to me.” His face hidden from her eyes, he whispered against her head, “I will never close my heart to you. I love you.”  
   
He could never have brought himself to say those words out loud, so it was fortunate that Elizabeth did not hear. She sobbed into his coat, and William felt a surge of strength. Elizabeth had supported him so many times throughout his prickly adolescence, and now it was time for him to support her.  
   
Even though he could never support her the way he wanted to, now that she had accepted Collins.  
   
William shoved down his broken heart and held Elizabeth close to his warm body, trying to warm her icy cold one. It eventually became that she leaned against his shoulder, still sniffling, with his arm around her. In time she fell asleep, and William stroked her hair in silence and gloom.  
   
It was all over. There was no more hope.  
   
Curse his wretched reticence! Not only had it taken friends from him, it had now taken the dearest person in the world from him! When would he overcome this damned silence? “Why can I never speak?!” he mouthed furiously at the darkening sky. “ _WHY?!_ ”  
   
Ensuring that Elizabeth would not wake, he leaned against the tree trunk, her form pressed against him, and wept as he had never done before.  
   
His tears were silent, as they always were, but the difference was that he was not mutely weeping in the middle of the night, he was crying silently at what he could never have. Childish, he knew, but it was the one thing that gave him even a small measure of comfort.  
   
In time his weeping stilled, his head lolled against Elizabeth’s, his form curled around hers protectively, and Fitzwilliam Darcy fell asleep.

* * *

January and Twelfth Night came, but neither William nor Elizabeth felt like celebrating. William was listless and miserable most of the time, and Elizabeth was not much better. The wedding had been set for mid-June, though Mrs. Bennet wanted it sooner. On Twelfth Night, both William and Elizabeth were dragged to a gathering at Sir William Lucas’s.  
   
William stood alone in a corner, watching as Elizabeth’s visiting betrothed spoke to her. How ridiculous this was! Not only was Elizabeth a complete opposite of Collins, so was he, William, himself! His hair was dark to Collins’s mousy brown, his eyes blue to Collins’s dull brown, his stature tall and lean to Collins’s short and stubby frame, his closemouthed reticence the complete contrast of Collins’s long-winded sociability.  
   
And the irony that they shared a name. Good God, would it never stop biting him?  
   
Watching Elizabeth dance with that man made his heart burn more than ever before, especially because she was so sad. He had to physically force himself to stay put when Elizabeth made a witty, if rather snarky, comeback to her mother’s comment, and Collins immediately reprimanded her.  
   
Even though William could barely keep from laughing at the remark, his humour was immediately turned into anger when Collins went on and on about it all evening.  
   
Elizabeth was forlorn, now, and William was bitter. He was bitter, for he knew Elizabeth’s wish to marry only for the deepest love, and now her mother’s schemes had ruined it. In the first week of January, he barely spoke two syllables to anyone, even Elizabeth. Not that they talked much anymore; their sessions were mostly spent in mutual silence and comfort. Each drew consolation from the other's presence.  
   
William’s heart suffered badly; nowadays he could not sleep. Why could he never stop? Why? He felt like screaming… only he could not. His voice had been suppressed for so long that it had grown incapable of expressing itself. That in itself made him want to scream all the more.

* * *

The second week of January began and waned away, ignored by both William and Elizabeth in their half-existences. January itself passed in that same way, and February began, cold and cloudy. William began walking with Elizabeth to Netherfield and back, because at least it gave them something to do. On the 4th, he found her listlessly playing with dirt. “Elizabeth,” he said, softly.  
   
She looked up. “William,” she answered simply. William felt an emptiness at her straight, sober face. This was not Elizabeth. This was a shade-Elizabeth. He offered his hand and a smile. “Come. I want to walk,” he jerked his head, “to the tree.”  
   
Once they had gone some distance, he asked, “Are you really so unhappy with your engagement to Mr. Collins?”  
   
“Yes, I am. I wish I could end it, but I must think of my family. They will have nowhere to go if I call off my engagement. Mr. Collins would not want to help them when Papa dies...”  
   
They walked on in silence, William thinking intensely. If all she needed to chase her own happiness was security for her family, he could arrange that. He could... no. Or maybe… no, not that one either. Suddenly it hit him: the only place he was sure the Bennets would be safe was Pemberley, his home, where he was master.  
   
That was it! He could offer his assurance for the Bennets’ safety, and Elizabeth would be free! “Elizabeth,” he said, voice trembling with excitement.  
   
“What is it?”  
   
“What if I were to offer to let your family live at Pemberley when your father dies? You would not need to rely on Mr. Collins then. Would you feel free to end your engagement and do what you wish?”  
   
Elizabeth frowned. “What about our reputations? If we live directly at Pemberley, well…”  
   
William frowned as well. “Perhaps one of the cottages on the grounds?”  
   
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “That might work. Oh, William, why are you doing this? You do not have to, you know.”  
   
He grabbed her shoulders. “Yes I do, Elizabeth Bennet. I would never forgive myself if I let you make yourself miserable.” William stared intensely into Elizabeth’s eyes, willing her old self to return.  
   
“I… William, this is only me. You need not go to all this trouble.”  
   
William shook her slightly. “Where has all your sense gone, Elizabeth? Yes I do, if only for the sake of our friendship. You know I would never leave you like this.”  
   
“Would people not wonder why you are keeping such a family on your estate?”  
   
William burst out angrily, “Hang what people think! If you – if any of you – were unhappy, do you think I would care what people thought? No, by God!”  
   
She smiled, but still rather sadly. “William, I still cannot see why, even with our friendship taken into account.” Her eyes hardened a little. "I want to know why."  
   
He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened it, closed it, again and again, like a fish that could not breathe. He kept blinking, hesitating.  
   
Why was he hesitating?  
   
Hesitation had almost brought his downfall before. What was he doing, doing it again?  
   
His cousin’s last letter came back to him: 

> _Cousin, if you want to win her, make the first move. This is only a chess puzzle; puzzle your way out! Never hesitate in the business of love. As war has it, he who hesitates, loses, and I can tell that the last thing you want is to lose! So get moving! Talk to her, anything! Begin, and everything will get easier._

So he took a deep, deep breath, and said, "Elizabeth, I will have you know that what I am about to say may affect our friendship very profoundly, but I want you to treat me the way you sincerely feel on the matter, alright?"

She nodded, confused. "Alright, William."

He let go of her shoulders and blurted out in a rush, "I love you!"

Elizabeth stared at him, stunned. "W - What?"

William took another deep breath, and said, slowly and distinctly, "I love you."

She still stared at him, and his heart sank faster than he had said that first phrase. Tears began to come to his eyes, and, for the first time in his life, he was ashamed to cry in front of Elizabeth.

So he did the first thing to come to mind: he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the cliffhanger! I wanted to get this chapter out as fast as I could because you guys are so supportive I don't want to keep you waiting too long!


	14. Of Happiness and Hearts

Elizabeth stared after him, still confused. _He loves me._ That realization was confusing and amazing all at once.

She and William had always shared a peculiar friendship, partnering instead of being older and younger. That partnership had ensured the survival of that bond even through the quarrels that separated them - mostly mundane and immature things.

Now all she needed was to sort out her own feelings.

Elizabeth knew she loved William - she had always loved him, since that first day in the park. But that had been more of a girlish adoration for a brother. Then again, that had been a long time ago... She loved him as a friend, that was true... yet the bond she shared with him was so much deeper and more profound than what she shared with her other friends like Charlotte or even her sister Jane.

She and William were so different, and yet they understood each other so well they were the same. And from what she understood of him, Elizabeth could see that this truth had been what was torturing him since her engagement.

 _William, I should have known. Forgive me._ William would probably forgive her, but she wanted to be worthy of that forgiveness. And the favour he just offered! It was too much. Elizabeth turned and started back home, still trying to see his form.

Did she love him? Yes, she did, but she needed to know what way she loved him.

Elizabeth knew what sort of person he was better than anybody, even Georgiana. William was kind and compassionate, with a heart that could never be neutral in any situation. He was fiercely independent with a spirit that refused to bow to anyone by force - she could understand that. He was brave and active; he never just stood there unless he was quickly calculating what might or might not happen. William was also quick-witted and clever, as was seen when he teased and bantered with her. Because he saw so much in so little time, he was the most perceptive person Elizabeth knew, even better than her father. He was unswervingly loyal, and would only cut off a friend if he or she was proven to be wicked.

And even under all that, he was still a playful boyish person who never seemed to get older in spirit, if in body.

All his faults also had to be taken into account. William had two types of tempers, and both of them dangerous. One of them was flaming hot and fiery, and the other was cool and vindictive. He was sometimes impulsive and sometimes he hesitated too long, afraid to dare the consequences - then again, that was only because he feared losing what he stood to lose. William was also overprotective, sheltering those in his care overmuch, like Georgiana. His shyness was another matter, as was his pride. They were entwined together, but were a bad combination. He was too shy to mix with others of his circle, but too proud to interact with lower circles like most would consider Elizabeth and her family.

Still, Elizabeth realized, all these things were what made William William. He could change, yes, but he would still be William. His faults made his good qualities stand out, and the two things were blurred together to make this particular man.

Last but not least: he loved with such a fiery passion and with such completeness that he feared losing those he loved, even to the point of sacrificing himself or things that were dear to him to ensure their safety and happiness.

Which was what he had just done for her. He had freed her to marry whom she liked by guaranteeing her family's security after her father's death, without any condition and with no requests. He loved her.

But the way he ran like that - was he ashamed? _No_ , Elizabeth thought. _He was crying... he probably thought I was going to reject him._

That thought halted her straight in her tracks. "Would I have rejected him?" she whispered out loud. "Would I?"

William was the best of men - and he had just proven, without knowing it, that he was the only one who suited her perfectly. And her love for him had been growing since the close - nay, intimate - friendship it had been at the assembly.

She did love him.

Elizabeth turned and ran back to Netherfield.

* * *

William threw himself on his bed. _Why?_ He wanted to scream in frustration.

 _Well, at least Elizabeth will be free to marry whomever she likes_ , he thought with some satisfaction - in fact, with more than what people would think considering his heart had just been broken by said Elizabeth.

He got up and walked over to the window, wondering if he would be able to see Elizabeth. He opened the window and got a shock - perhaps not one of the greatest, but a good one.

Elizabeth was looking up - at him! She also seemed to be telling him to come down... why? She had already rejected him, what more did she need?

Still, remember what came out of not hearing Elizabeth out the first time. With a sigh, he slammed down the window and rushed downstairs.

Elizabeth was there, waiting for him. He offered her his arm and began to walk her back to Longbourn, carefully not looking at her face. Her hand was cold on his arm, and instinctively he put his warmer hand on top of it.

Once they were out of sight of both Netherfield and Longbourn, Elizabeth turned around and freed her hand from him. She gripped his shoulders and made him look up at her. "William," she said forcefully, "look up."

"What more is there to say, Elizabeth?" he asked wearily. What was she playing at, dragging him out like this?

"You told me you loved me, and then you ran off. What was that about?"

He looked up sharply. "As if you do not know! You were silent, standing there simply staring at me! Not only did it unnerve me, it convinced me that you had turned me down - and you did, did you not?"

Elizabeth shifted her hands from his shoulders to his face. "William, I was silent. I did not _say_ anything. That is the point. I had not refused you because I did not say so."

"That was all you came here for?" he asked, though a hope began to grow inside of him. He tamped it down. He had experienced despair before. No need to add to it by hoping. "You came here to reject me with words as well as deeds?"

Elizabeth blinked. "What? No!"

"Then what?" he pressed, the hope swelling up in his throat even though he tried not to let it.

Elizabeth said nothing, simply slipped her arms around his chest and held him tightly. Finally, she spoke. "Now, you know I love you too."

With that one statement, his hopes were confirmed and joy flooded his body, making all of it tingle and buzz like mad. His senses seemed to be on hyper-alert, acutely aware of Elizabeth's body pressed against his, her breath tickling his neck. Acutely aware of the sweet scent that smelled faintly of lavender and the rest of her. Acutely aware of all the colors around him, sharpening: Elizabeth's soft brunette locks, her green-and-gold dress - just like her green-and-gold smile - his own dark blue coat, white cravat, breeches, and black boots.

Time seemed to slow down, and his colour came back, exploding into bright gold and rose, bright green and silver, pale blue and lilac. The colours he had so resented upon his fall into depression were now the means by which he defined this wonderful moment, the moment when rose did not seem such a faraway colour after all.

He kissed her forehead. "I love you," he whispered, locking his arms around her back.

Had he been crying this whole time? Perhaps, but he only noticed when the tear dropped off his chin.

Elizabeth pulled back and wiped it, and William noted that her chocolate eyes also shone with tears. "William, I suppose I should thank you for declaring yourself. Without it, it would have taken much longer and much more pain to discover it alone."

He laughed. "Thank our cousins then. Mr. Collins was who shoved me within inches of the edge, and Richard's letter was what pushed me over it. So, thank our cousins." William stopped, and looked at her. "Speaking of Mr. Collins, what will you do about your engagement?" Remembering himself, he disengaged from Elizabeth and stood against a tree, feeling a little bereft.

"I will break it off, as you suggested," she said. "Papa and I only agreed because Mama pressured us into doing so. Now that I know I love somebody else, I cannot marry Mr. Collins." She tilted her chin up. "You know what I wish for in marriage."

"How are you sure it is the deepest love?" he teased, smirking a little.

"Because it is deeper than any other love I have had, even with Jane and Papa." Elizabeth took his statement both seriously and teasingly. "Are you not pushing your luck a bit?"

William laughed. Suddenly the healing wound on his leg and the remaining scars on his arm and shoulder did not seem so painful... maybe it was this lighter-than-air feeling that did it. "Yes, I confess I am." He smiled. "But I also confess... I like it very much."

Elizabeth laughed, and life once again flooded through William at that wonderful sound. She was back! His Elizabeth was back, and he loved it, savoured it, let all of the sensations flow through his body like he had with the sweets he was given as a child, except this was a thousand times better than all of those memories combined.

With a wink, he clambered up their tree, and she followed, snuggling into him. It was such a familiar gesture - after all, she had always done that as a girl - but it was now charged with an entirely different meaning. His arm went about her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. This was one of the moments his love for her washed over him, but this time it did not leave him with burning pain all over him, but a lingering happiness that felt like butterflies in his head. God, if he was any happier, he might start to glow!

"I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy," Elizabeth murmured. "Never forget that."

His heart, so battered with pain and betrayal from before, swelled with love and joy until he thought it might burst. "I love you, Elizabeth Bennet," he said back to her. "And I always will."

William lay back down against the tree branch, with Elizabeth resting her head against his chest. His heart and hers beat in chorus, and soon, exhausted by all the emotion of the day, the two fell asleep.

* * *

He jolted awake, and instantly, with Elizabeth's head still rising and falling with each breath he took, he knew it had not been some wonderful, far-fetched dream. It was real. It was wonderfully real. He looked up in half-alarm.

Twilight was fast approaching, and already the brilliant reds and golds of sunset had faded. William looked around, and saw the lights of Longbourn and Netherfield in the distance winkling into existence.

"William?" Elizabeth was awake immediately. "Oh God! What time is it?"

He quickly fumbled for his watch, and checked the time. "Good God, is it nearly five already? We must be on our way!" He jumped out of the tree, rolled to his feet, and brushed himself off while Elizabeth chose a safer route.

"We must part ways here." William's sense of alarm was growing as his keen ears caught footsteps. "Quick, act naturally!" He dove for the bushes while Elizabeth walked toward Longbourn unperturbed. His leg twinged painfully, but he ignored it as he sidled through the underbrush towards Netherfield.

* * *

"Darcy! Where on earth have you been, man?" Charles's voice greeted him as he stepped through the door. "Good Lord, what happened to you? You look as though you've been tumbled!"

"I fell out of the tree I was napping in," William lied uneasily, with the air of confession. His tongue was stiff and heavy, and suddenly he felt awkward. This was the way his nature rebelled against deceit or disguise of any sort, but Elizabeth's reputation had to be thought of. To some extent, he was telling the truth, for he did - sort of - fall out of the tree... what he neglected to say was who else was there.

"Well, that's quite alright!" Charles said. "Good Lord, if you have been napping since this morning, you must be starving! Come, Darcy, supper is served, and you might as well!"

William smiled. "Thank you, Charles, I believe I shall."

* * *

The next day, Elizabeth skipped towards him. "William, I have cut my engagement," she said.

He smiled. "And you have no regrets about that whatsoever?"

Elizabeth pulled a face. "Only that I had ever consented to such a thing in the first place!" She smiled at him. "Other than that, I have nothing to regret, except perhaps not seeing your pain sooner! But, being a selfish person, I naturally thought you were pained about my unhappiness."

William frowned as he sat down on the grass. "I was. It was only that I was also pained from a thing I once thought silly."

"So you thought a broken heart silly?" Elizabeth sat down beside him.

"I thought it was overly sentimental! You must admit that most of my reading material does not contain that particular phrase. I also thought that the poets who described it were being excessively dramatic, what with all the crying the heartbroken characters did." William laughed. "I do not think I cried as much as they did! And... well, yes, a long time ago, I thought it silly to be in love in the first place. I regarded people who described themselves as in love foolish."

"Ouch! You consider yourself foolish, then, for falling in love with me." Elizabeth's tone told William she was only teasing, but that barb stuck a little too deep.

"I once did, many years ago," he confessed. "I discovered how exactly I cared for you, and I battled with myself for weeks... Elizabeth, did you know I have been in love with you since you were fourteen years old?"

Elizabeth was surprised. "No wonder you could not spit it out without a nudge from both our cousins! Considering your reticent nature, your tendency towards practicality, and your reluctance to pain me, you must have been very high-strung indeed when you told me you loved me." She paused, then said, "Is that why you ran away?"

"Yes, it is," he said. "I thought I knew how my reception would be, and I was dreading it even as I finally said what I wanted to say. When I believed my fears confirmed, I ran because I was ashamed to cry in front of you."

"William, you must never be ashamed to do anything in front of me," Elizabeth replied firmly, taking his hand and squeezing it. When she tried to pull her hand away, however, his fingers entwined with hers and prevented it. "I will never laugh at you. Whether it is to rage, or cry, or anything else, never feel embarrassed to show me every part of you." In an impulsive burst of affection, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

William flushed - with pleasure, if Elizabeth could judge by the shine in his eyes. "Thank you." He smiled. "Do you know how safe I feel with you? It is ridiculous, but I feel as though nothing can harm me when I am with you." He grimaced, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. "Now I sound like those sentimental fools in poems and novels, do I not?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, I believe you do. However, I do not mind." She twirled a lock of his hair, pulled it, and bounced it into his eyes before doing it again and again. "And in return, I will share every part of me with you." Her eyes glinted wickedly even as she grinned in fun. "I warn you, you might very well be frightened away by everything you see."

He raised an eyebrow to indicate his scepticism. "Elizabeth, I practically watched you grow up - no, scratch that - I practically grew up with you. I doubt that much you will reveal to me will scare me!" He leaned back until he was lying on the grass, just as he used to do in their youth. He closed his eyes and was silent, the only movement she saw in him was his chest moving up and down to his breathing, and his fingers tracing soothing circles on the hand he still held.

Finally William sat up. "Elizabeth, if you are willing to share every aspect of you to me, and to see every aspect of me, and I am ready to do the same, perhaps we should formalize it." He grinned mischievously and leaned closer to her, putting her in a state of alertness to his every movement and twitch.

"How?"

William thought for a moment. "It is so soon after you broke off your engagement to Mr. Collins," he murmured. "Perhaps it would be too soon to get engaged again... what would you say to a courtship, then?"

"That sounds like a good solution."

"Then, Miss Elizabeth, will you allow me to court you?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, smirking as she pinched his nose and let go, making him cross-eyed for a second.

William looked up with a smile of pure, dizzying happiness, which made Elizabeth glad. How many times had he denied himself anything for the sake of those he held dear? How many times had he preferred to shelter people from the consequences of their own mistakes, instead taking the responsibility onto his own shoulders? How many times had his honour and sense of duty and morals forced him to deny his own pleasure?

She studied her new suitor's profile. His aquiline nose was a familiar trait, as were his blue eyes. However, the effect they had on his face always surprised her. William's eyes had always been rather big, being the most prominent feature of his face. They were also his chief mode of expression. When he was happy, they glittered like a thousand skies could not. When he was sad, the golden ring of sun disappeared, leaving them drooping forget-me-nots. When he was angry, they crackled and sparked like blue-hot fire.

Elizabeth did not know how to describe his other moods, like bored, frustrated, desperate, or uncomfortable, but she knew when he was feeling them. She also could tell when he was lying just by looking at his eyes. There was a particular crease between his eyebrows, a certain movement in his irises, that gave him away.

The arch of his brows always seemed to be absent, so in general people thought he frowned all the time, but now, that arch was present, giving him a particularly soft look. His thick lashes were boyish and cute, but also tended to be overlooked under his overgrown bangs of thick dark hair. While not silky like her cousins' hair or wiry like Mr. Bingley's, William's hair had always had a sort of perverse nature to them, like Elizabeth's own brunette curls. They bounced when they were twirled, which was something she took advantage of very much.

Even though she had only found it out after he had said it, she knew she loved him.

William sighed and lay back on her ground. "I believe the custom, Lizzy, is for one of us to wish the day would not end. But I see that as foolish." He smirked with a genuine smile in his eyes. "I hope you see my reasoning."

Elizabeth grinned, alight with the contentment that comes from extreme happiness. "I believe I do, William."

"You have agreed to a courtship, then, so I shall have to speak to your father about that..." His eyes turned apprehensive.

"I know. He will not like the notion of giving up his second eldest daughter, so soon after the first has formed an attachment." Elizabeth frowned. "Whatever happened to Mr. Bingley? I was sure he would propose soon, when Mama fairly pushed me out of his and Jane's company this morning!"

"Perhaps he already has," William remarked. "I was certain he would, given his agitation today. At any rate, we shall know soon." He stood up, dusted himself off, and offered her his hand. "Let us return to Longbourn, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if it was clumsy, I always go movie-mode when it comes to these moments! So please, comment and tell me what I can fix!


	15. Of Farewell and Foreboding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry!  
> I made some HUGE modifications and now I'm re-posting the chapters I SHOULD have posted. Sorry for the radio silence - this site was blocked on all the electronics except for this one! Please forgive me...

The next days were days of revelation, days when Elizabeth realized that the boy who had frolicked with her in the park was gone, that William was different. Yet she could not regret his loss much, for William was now her perfect complement. Every curve, every line, every jagged edge - to all of her notes, even the discordant ones, William played a harmony.

Their friendship may have been unconventional, but their courtship was even more so. William never used any terms of endearment, but even just her name - _Elizabeth_ \- sounded like one, coming from him. She realized that he had been saying it like that for years - how had she not heard it?

Elizabeth would be the first to admit that she did not love William all those years ago - at least not the way she loved him now - and she was actually relieved he had said it _now_ , when she _had_  come to love him. If he had said it before, Elizabeth did not want to know what would have happened, because she knew she would not have said it back.

William was kinder and softer now, more sympathetic. He had always been good-hearted, but his gentleness was readier than before, more willing to show itself. He was changed, quieter, more introspective, and cheerful. His mind was as quick and as sharp as ever, and his wit was still sarcastic, but he now seemed more inclined to laugh at himself than at others.

His playful spirit still flared, and now and often they found themselves on the grass, panting, as they had in their childhood. Trevor was a good playmate for Victoria, and William would sometimes bring his hound with him.

William was also more open with himself to her than ever. At first, their distance had been because he was a boy seven years her senior, and she was a girl seven years his junior. Then because of their argument and the uncertainty and regret they both felt afterwards. After that, it was because of his fear of revealing himself to her. However, now that his feelings - and hers - were open between them, he shared with her everything that was on his mind: his worry for the tenants of Pemberley, his concern for and pride in Bingley's skills, and his anecdotes about Miss Bingley. This new confidence and trust was something Elizabeth enjoyed and returned, telling him all about her family's antics and the tenants' problems, and she would always inject her own feelings and thoughts into these stories.

Of course, there were off days, when he was easily irritated or annoyed, but Elizabeth found it easier to weather his rare shows of temper when she could coax him to tell her what the matter was.

And every day she looked forward to walking in the morning, to seeing his smile of welcome. His smile was a different thing entirely. When he genuinely smiled, it was not the flash of pleasure that was Mr. Bingley's grin, nor was it Sir William's affable glow. It was not Jane's serene purity, nor was it Lydia's innocent good humour. It was not Mr. Bennet's sarcastic smirk or Mrs. Bennet's shaft of sun. It was a brilliant light that was just a bit lopsided, a light that sparked in his eyes like a lightning bolt.

And much as she loved the smile, she loved the man the smile belonged to infinitely more. She loved the honourable gentleman, the hot volcano, the cold blizzard, the boyish adventurer, the prideful child, and, at the center of it all, the kind, lively, shy, and generous man who could only be described as _Fitzwilliam Darcy_.

She woke up on the morning of the 23rd, and headed out with suppressed spirits. Today, William was leaving, which was why she wandered out earlier than was her wont. William, too, had a dejected air.

"You leave today, do you not?"

"I do," William responded quietly, leaning against her, warming her. "My absence may be as short as three weeks, or as long as three months. I cannot say what sort of issues might arise, or what might already be there, waiting on my desk. Mr. Kirke is already quite annoyed with me for neglecting my duties for five whole months." His lips quirked into a half-smile.

"Oh! I had forgotten!" Elizabeth was furious with herself. How selfish could she be? Of course William had other duties.

"No, no, I chose to let you forget," he corrected. "I also made myself forget. Although, I must say you make it so easy to forget other things."

"Are you, sir, trying to flirt with me?" Elizabeth gasped, pretending to be shocked.

William grinned devilishly. "And what if I am? Would you run off screaming to find your father?"

"No, actually," Elizabeth answered seriously. "I rather like it." She snuggled closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around her, drawing her closer to him.

"We should go down, you know," he whispered. "I must not be late."

"Yes, of course." Elizabeth scampered down with the agility and skill of a squirrel, while William reminded one of a lizard, the way he clambered down. But before she could say goodbye, he said, "Elizabeth, before I leave... do you know that I love you? Because I do, and I want you to know that mind, body, soul, and heart; they are all devoted to you."

Elizabeth was speechless - really, what could one say to that? "I know, William, and I love you too." She impulsively embraced him and hid her face in his coat, blinking away the silly tears that came to her eyes. "More than everyone and everything else I have ever loved combined."

Pulling away, she began to open her mouth to say goodbye, William did the thing most unexpected of the man of perfect propriety William was known to be.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

At first all she felt was pure shock, but the buzzing of shock turned into the hum of pleasure, and her heart pounded in her ears and her throat. She stared at William's closed eyes and thick lashes. Warm tingling spread throughout her body from her hands against his chest, his hands around her wrists, and the heat of his breath against her cheek. Just as William was beginning to draw away she grabbed his collar and pulled him back, closing her eyes.

This new sensation was amazing - very much so - and as William pressed closer, Elizabeth succumbed to the passion of his kiss.

It was only when they were running out of breath that they pulled away, and Elizabeth still felt shock and pleasure mingling in her bloodstream. William's eyes were bright with joy, and the golden ring glowed, but he was blushing furiously, and even the tips of his ears were red. "I - I am sorry -" he began to say.

"William," she interrupted, "it is fine. It is alright."

"But I should not have -"

"William," she said firmly. "It is _alright!_ " Without thinking she yanked him down again and kissed him. His suppressed gasp of surprise faded as he closed his eyes.

When they pulled apart again, William was still flushing, but this time with delight. "Are you absolutely sure...?"

"Yes, I am. William, that was... I enjoyed that!" Elizabeth admitted.

"I did, as well." William smiled brilliantly, the brightest smile Elizabeth had ever seen. "Until I return, then, Elizabeth, my love," he whispered, saying those two words out loud for the first time. He turned back before walking away, and gave her a folded piece of paper. "I would like you to read this sometime."

"I will." Elizabeth smiled, and he smiled back before walking away. Her heart was still pounding from the two kisses they had shared. William had overstepped the bounds of propriety in a way that both shocked and exhilarated her. For once, she was glad he had been the first to move. Elizabeth tried to wipe the grin off her face - she really could not get back down to earthly business if she could not stop smiling like an idiot!

She sat down to read the pieces of paper. The first one was a short note:

> My dear Elizabeth,
> 
> Here is the first of the letters I was too afraid to send when I was younger - oh, yes, go ahead and mock me, I know I sound like an old man. Sometimes I feel as though I am. But that chapter of my life is certainly behind me, and I shall not read it again if I can help it, unless I need to review what I have learned from that time.
> 
> There are also a few diary entries from the part of my journal I have torn out (that is a long story, I will show you) that I must give you when I return. I reread them now and again to remind myself that the person who wrote those things is not me anymore. There is also a rather distressing little note I wrote a few years ago - you need not be alarmed at it, my Lizzy, for I have, as I said, closed that part of my life.
> 
> I am no longer afraid of who I am, Elizabeth, and I am a man who loves you.
> 
> Yours affectionately,
> 
> _**William** _

Elizabeth read the note again, and she almost wriggled with the remembrance of their first kiss. William, the eloquent rascal! She grinned again, but this time did not try to stop. She looked for the letter, and found it. It was dated three months after her fourteenth birthday, from Pemberley. She remembered the date as about two months after their discussion in the park, after William had sent a note.

> Dear Elizabeth,
> 
> Thank you for your last letter. I know that by now I am a rubbish correspondent, and I must apologize again, for my responsibilities are getting a bit much lately. Father is unwell, and although he is not exactly ill, his condition prevents him from doing some of his usual tasks, which I have now taken upon myself, since I shall have to, at one point in my life or another. You are so kind to keep writing, regardless of my reply (or lack of one!).
> 
> The other reason I have not written is because there really was nothing interesting. Besides Father being a bit weak, there were no other problems Mr. Kirke and I could not address in a matter of hours.
> 
> Interesting meaning distracting, for my mind is almost always wandering these days. Wandering to the same place - I have no idea why. However much I try to distract myself, the same image keeps following me: the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. Good Lord! - forgive me, I was not supposed to write that! Oh, alright, go ahead and tease me all you want. Annoy me. At least that is distracting, although not _precisely_ the way I would do it.
> 
> Sadly, the one interesting thing this autumn has turned out to be a misfortune. The Bates farmhouse burned down last week, and I have been busy, with Father too frail to ride out and look at the damage. The Bates house is not far, but it is rather too far for him, so I have done it instead, and am supervising the repair effort. The house itself should be livable in three weeks' time or so, but I'm afraid the crop is unsalvageable. It is nearly harvest, after all, and the ready crops, along with the grass near the actual house, are a firetrap. I find it amazing and a welcome blessing that all the Bateses were able to escape the fire in time. Thank God the farmers' fields are separate and walled!
> 
> My solution for their lodgings for the rest of the month is for them to live at Pemberley. That way, they need not worry about a roof over their heads or food on their table. The other tenants are working especially hard to harvest all the crops before there can be another fire. They have also given the Bates family a few things they need, such as clothes. The workers of the Bates family (Mr. Bates and his two oldest sons, Matthew and Luke) are working with other tenants instead, and I find that the mother is left here with the younger children.
> 
> The Bates children are a lively little bunch, with the oldest of them, Charles, (or Charley) being only ten, and his youngest brothers not even breeched yet. There are four boys and two girls, the boys being ten, nine, three, and three respectively, and the girls being eight and six. They are a strong, playful lot, and I do not really mind their laughter. Georgie and I are favourites, it seems, and I enjoy playing with them once my duties are done.
> 
> Charley and his brother Arthur are the most rambunctious of the group, and I suppose I must be grateful that their sister Cindy keeps them in check. Anna is not up to much at the age of six, but she reminds me of you with her brunette locks, chocolate eyes, and cheery moods. She loves to sew; however, she also likes to run. The Bates twins, James and John, keep close to their sister Anna, but they seem to like me especially. One thing they love to do to me is toddle to me when I approach and grab me around the legs. I am told this is a gesture they only reserve for their father and brothers, so I feel very honoured indeed!
> 
> I know nothing of the why, but I do know that somehow I have been playing the indulgent uncle, showing them up to the highest balcony, letting them explore the music room, giving them a tour of the gallery, and, of course, sneaking them a few sweets when their mother's back is turned. In all seriousness, though, I only give them a few! Do not berate me!

Elizabeth smiled at this teasing defence of his honour, and her heart warmed as she thought of his kindness towards the Bates family, who most people would not spare even a thought for. His notice of all the Bates children's characteristics and his knowledge of them was more than most people would even consider giving a tenant's children.

> I say adieu till next time, which, I warn you, may not be soon.
> 
> Your friendly, boring bee,
> 
> _**William** _

Elizabeth laughed at his closing address, folded up the letter without reading the 'distressing note', rose, and walked back towards Longbourn.

* * *

_Pemberley!_

William could almost breathe the feel of it, the unique crisp air and familiar caress of the wind and noise - Pemberley! There was no place like his home, and he did not want there to be. Pemberley was his home, where a bit of his heart would always reside. He almost sprang out of the carriage despite his cramped limbs and his drowsy stupor. As it was, he hopped down and filled his lungs with the coming dusk air.

When he stepped into the parlour, a very excited Georgiana came to meet him, and he caught her up and twirled her around like he had done with both her and Elizabeth since childhood. "Georgie! I am so happy to see you, my sweet sister!"

"Why were you gone so long, William?" Georgiana asked as he set her down.

"I had an old friend to meet up with," William replied. "Do you remember Elizabeth?"

"Of course I do, Brother! She was so kind to me and so understanding of my shyness after your injury. I like her very much!"

"No, sweet, I meant, what do you remember of Elizabeth from your childhood?"

"I remember that every summer you would go out to a park in London to play with an Elizabeth," Georgiana recalled. "And that you would make or buy her presents every May 21st and Christmas. I also remember you writing a note to Miss Elizabeth Bennet when you... er..." she faltered, reluctant to mention the traumatic incident. "Are those three Elizabeths one and the same?"

"Yes, they are - or rather, she is. Do not be afraid to mention what I did. It is my very own Ramsgate, Georgiana. Just as you have your folly there to be aashamed of, I have my pride to thank for my near-suicide," William supplied breezily. "Now, what has happened since I left? Are the tenants all well? Has Richard come by?"

"No, it is Aunt Catherine." Georgiana seemed to become her old shy self. "She... has come to call a few times."

"Aunt Catherine, whatever for?" William exclaimed, his brows knitting. What on earth would Aunt Catherine come to see Georgiana for? "How many times?" he demanded, sweeping down the hall to his study.

"Sixteen since you left - so far, Brother, but it is nothing, truly!" Georgiana said quickly, catching her brother's arm. "It is only that she is worried for you, you being absent so long. Every time she visits, she asks for you."

"What? Why? When was the last time?" William threw open his study door and stormed to the desk, brushing through the envelopes that lay on it.

"Yesterday fortnight," Georgiana answered. "But she only remained for half an hour. William, do not worry about Aunt Catherine. She is only worried about you."

"Worried about me 'damaging Anne's prospects'!" William muttered, sitting down at his desk and retrieving a pen from it with a loud slam of the drawer. "Aunt Catherine is frantic that with my long visit to Hertfordshire - since I never make long visits anywhere - some country girl has gone and ensnared me against my good sense - or some such rubbish!" He suddenly halted and looked at his sister with a smirk. "Although I must admit her guess is not so far from the truth."

"Whatever do you mean, Brother?"

"I mean that while 'some country girl'," William made exaggerated air quotes, "has not enthralled me against my reason or character, a girl from the county of Hertfordshire has managed to capture my heart - with my full permission, of course." He winked as he resumed his business, breaking open an envelope.

"William, what do you mean?" his sister persisted, an exasperated note climbing into her tone.

"Elizabeth is from Hertfordshire," William stated, "and she is a girl. She is my dearest and best friend, and I have been head over heels in love with her for years. There!" he said, slamming down the letter. "If you cannot make sense of that, I will say no more!"

Georgiana thought and William waited. Finally a long "Ooooohh!" from Georgiana made him chuckle, and another one made him laugh outright. "Oh!" Georgiana exclaimed again, and this time he actually slipped off his chair onto the rug and laughed until tears ran down his face. When his sister finally finished piecing together his puzzle, William was already rolling on the rug, crying and gasping with laughter.

"William! Is something the matter?" Georgiana asked, noticing him at last.

"No - _oh!_ " William choked, pausing for a moment and sprawling on the rug in an eagle position. "Georgiana, please! Make it stop!" He rolled over and buried his face in the rug, hiccuping. "Oh God," he said, rolling back over. "That was good."

"What was?"

"Georgiana, I appear to have concealed my love of Elizabeth so well that even you did not notice! Elizabeth herself knew nothing of it and thought nothing of my gestures until I came right out and told her! I have been so good at keeping secrets that the two dearest people in the world to me had no idea what was happening!"

"So is it as I think? Have you indeed proposed?"

"Not yet, Georgie, not yet. I am only courting her still, but once I go to Hertfordshire, I am relatively certain that I shall return here an engaged man. At least," he added as an afterthought.

"Oh, William-that-is-wonderful!" Georgiana squealed in one breath, her hands clasped together in excitement. "I shall have a sister!" She began to do an almost-dance, the widest smile she had given in a long time lighting up the face that was almost a female copy of her brother's.

Her brother grinned indulgently and went back to his writing. "I shall have to finalize the marriage settlement to be offered to Elizabeth's father and finally get it out of Aunt Catherine's mind that I will marry Anne," he said, as though to himself, as he scratched away. "Then I will away as soon as possible and ask." For the first time, doubt crossed his face. "The only thing I am afraid of is her answer."

"Why?" Georgiana cried. "Surely she will not refuse you?"

"That is what I fear, although her behaviour has declared that highly unlikely," William said pensively, supporting his chin on one hand in what Georgiana called his 'brooding pose': eyes half closed, mouth thin and expressionless, and other hand drumming restlessly. "I suppose any man in love would have this doubt, but somehow that does not console me. I feel restless, as though some foreboding shadow fell upon me and I am anxious to be off."

"That was the way you described feeling before I left for Ramsgate," the girl beside him recalled. "And before Father took ill. I hate to dampen your spirits, dear Brother, but I think you may be right, and you had best be on your toes."

William smiled and shifted, going back to his regular seated pose. "I thank you for your advice, dear sister, but now I must finish my business." He rose and kissed her cheek. "Go, Georgiana. I would like to be alone for now."

Once the girl had skipped out of the room, still full of high spirits at the thought of gaining a sister, William slid open the drawer of his desk and picked up a small, square black box. Opening it, he gazed at the ring inside and tried to quell his doubts, but somehow a bad feeling settled over him and refused to go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again if the kiss was a bit clunky. I just always go movie-mode on these moments... what do you think?


	16. Of Colours and Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I send a special thank you to everyone who's left kudos on and bookmarked my story! I'll edit and let you know who they were sometime next week, because my busy schedule (aka, high school) won't allow me to write until then. So toodle-oo!

Elizabeth's trip to Hunsford had been moved to earlier than expected, prompting her to leave on the first of March, to stay three weeks. Charlotte seemed happy and content, and Collins, when not around Lady Catherine, had even shown more than two grains of sense. She was satisfied with her journey, but looking forward to going home.

What she did not expect was Mr. Collins running up the drive a fortnight and three days after her arrival, breathless and obsequious again. "The gentlemen are here!"

" _What_ gentlemen?" both Elizabeth and Charlotte asked, one astounded, the other placid. Elizabeth almost dropped her pen when Mr. Collins replied hurriedly, "Lady Catherine's nephews - all four of them!"

"Four? I thought Mr. Darcy only had two cousins," Elizabeth asked, not quite realizing the implication.

"Well, yes, he does have only two male cousins, but his cousin Elizabeth married Sir Ernest Cecil of Blackheath Manor - Sir Ernest is the fourth cousin of the party." For once, Elizabeth's cousin did not elaborate, breathless as he was. But that meant - counting, Sir Ernest was the fourth, and there were only three blood Fitzwilliam cousins: William, Viscount Milton, and Richard, whom Elizabeth knew by no other name. That meant _William_ was here!

Mr. Collins had barely said this when a knock sounded on the door. He quickly opened it, and there stood William, calm and quiet as always, but smiling. "May I enter?" he asked politely.

Of course, this started Collins off about how kind Darcy was to call, and how he did not really need to ask permission and - honestly, about everyone in the room quit listening after about the sixth sentence. "Miss Elizabeth," William said, uneasily, unsure as of how to act in front of Mr. and Mrs. Collins. His shyness was at its peak, here in an unfamiliar setting, with largely unfamiliar people. Elizabeth could almost see him donning the mask he was so known for wearing: that of arrogance, pride, and haughtiness.

Just then a young man burst through the doorway and looked as though he was about to yell at William. "Fitzwilliam Darcy!" he cried. "What on earth do you mean by running off like that?" He was a shorter but well-built man of around thirty, although Elizabeth would say he looked closer to twenty-nine than thirty. He wore a dark red coat and high boots.

William started like he suddenly realized the devil was behind him, but relaxed. "Easy, Richard."

So this was Richard. It took Collins a full second to realize just who had burst through the door, and he looked horrified at not having realized they had a guest. "Colonel Fitzwilliam!" he cried. "What an honor it is to have you visit our humble abode!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam listened politely for about eight sentences, then greeted him and Charlotte. Afterwards, he turned to Elizabeth. "Darcy, is this that mysterious girl Georgiana told us about?"

William stiffened. "If it is, it is none of your business, cousin."

"None of my business if my cousin is getting married?" the colonel asked innocently, sitting down across from Elizabeth. William took a seat beside her, and faced his cousin boldly, if stiffly. "Richard, I gave you no leave to bandy about my personal affairs in the parlour of the parsonage."

His cousin had the grace to look embarrassed.

William continued, "Please, cousin, if you have an interest in my life, let me tell you, in my own time. Leave me be until then, and there will be no prying for details, no wheedling, and definitely no begging."

"I do not _beg!_ " Colonel Fitzwilliam protested.

"Yes, you do." William stifled a chuckle, and Elizabeth went back to carefully signing her name on the letter to hide the smile that tugged on her lips. The idea of one of the proud Fitzwilliam cousins begging anyone, even his own cousin, for anything was too ridiculous _not_ to smile at.

"In any case, I propose a walk," William said. "Miss Elizabeth, would you be willing to accompany us?"

Just then, two more men dashed into the room, seemingly taken aback by the calm sight before them. Elizabeth almost snickered at the look on the taller of the two, the one with dark hair and dark grey eyes. "William!" he rebuked. Going by his resemblance to both William and the Colonel, he is probably the Viscount.

"What was my wrong this time, Alex?" William looked at his older cousin earnestly.

"You ran off in the middle of chaos like that, and you did not excuse yourself!" The Viscount looked positively annoyed.

"Yes I did! I said, 'Excuse me, but I must be gone'," William protested.

"Fine, but you must admit that you had every intention of sneaking off to the parsonage today," the other man said. He had to be Sir Ernest Cecil. Besides being the only one of the four who did not bear any resemblance whatsoever to the other three, he was also the only one with black hair as opposed to dark hair that only looked black. He was a bit shorter than Alexander Fitzwilliam, but still tall, with liquid, instrospective bluish-grey eyes.

"Yes, I did, but you need not rush after me and question my intentions." William looked so adorably indignant that Elizabeth could not help chuckling.

"Oh." The Colonel, the Viscount, and the Baronet turned towards her. "I apologize, but I do not think we have been introduced yet," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. "Fitz, would you please introduce us?"

"Gladly," William replied, relaxing. "Elizabeth, these are my cousins: Viscount Milton, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Sir Ernest Cecil. Richard, Alex, Ernest, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Well met, Miss Elizabeth," the viscount remarked. "My cousin Georgiana, who I am certainly you are already acquainted with, was talking nonstop about you the other day. On and on and on she went - Lord, here I was thinking she would never be herself again after Ramsgate, and there she was, firing away like a chatterbox!" He grinned in a manner remarkably like William's, although it lacked something of his natural austerity. "I feel as if I know you already."

"Oh dear!" Elizabeth exclaimed teasingly. "There we are unequal, sir, for Georgiana has told me nothing of you!"

"Ah, the little traitor," Viscount Milton said, leaning back. "Then I must acquaint you with me and my brothers with all speed!" With that, they all began to exchange stories from childhood: of escapades, pranks, and adventures; of Christmases, Easters, and various birthdays that stood out because of the mischief caused by the little Fitzwilliam trio, and sometimes by all the Fitzwilliam cousins, counting Anne and Georgiana.

By the time the gentlemen rose to leave, Elizabeth felt at ease with them all, even Sir Ernest, whom she had never even heard of, except for William's passing remark the one morning. "Oh, and by the by, Miss Elizabeth," the colonel added, "I believe you may call us all by our first names. After all, most of us have known of you since childhood!" He winked.

"Do you prefer Richard, or Richie?" Elizabeth teased. Out of the corner of her eye, she though she saw William's look darken.

"Richard, please," Richard said, making a face. "Richie is a nickname best left in the past. But I suppose you will call me Richie now just to spite me, eh?"

"How did you guess?" Elizabeth demanded, more amused than annoyed.

Richard smirked. "I am familiar with all your teasing ways, thanks to your student over there," he replied, jerking his head at his cousin. "He does it to me all the time." William overheard, and looked embarrassed.

Sir Ernest and the Viscount were already down near the path when the colonel ran up to join them, but William still hung back. "May I call upon you tomorrow?"

"Perhaps it would be better for you to meet me during our morning ramblings, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth commented, feeling a slight disappointment at turning down company against Mr. Collins. "My cousin would surely report this to your aunt, and then where would we be?"

"True enough," he murmured. "Then, until tomorrow morning?"

"Until tomorrow morning, Fitzwilliam," she whispered, letting herself use his full first name for the first time since discovering his presence here at Rosings.

He smiled softly, his cerulean eyes glittering with contentment. "That sounds nice - and I do not mean only the prospect of seeing you tomorrow morning without your rather - er, _loud_ cousin in the immediate vicinity. I like it when you say 'Fitzwilliam'. Could you call me that sometimes?"

"Of course," Elizabeth agreed, leaning a bit away so as not to give the Collinses any suspicions. "I find that I like your full Christian name much better than I did as a child."

"Tomorrow morning, then," he said by way of farewell, and started off down the path to Rosings. Elizabeth almost wriggled with joy. _Imagine, William, here at Rosings, just when I happen to be at the parsonage!_

* * *

Finally, Elizabeth had the chance to meet Anne de Bourgh, and was surprised that, when away from her overbearing mother, Anne could be much like herself: teasing, spirited, and willful. She was also much like William, being independent and passionate but quiet. Indeed, with two such women in his life, it was no surprise that William had grown the way he was. That day, she asked him something.

"Why did you not concede to a marriage to your cousin Anne, William, if she is so much like me?" Elizabeth inquired, swinging her legs from her perch in the stately tree in Rosings.

"Anne does not have your spark," William answered simply. "She may have your fire, she may have your spirit, but I doubt that Anne de Bourgh will ever have your life. Anne has spent too much time around us gloomy Fitzwilliam men to be that." He chuckled. "You must understand, Elizabeth, that where your colours are bright gold and green, Anne's is a simple azure blue, like the daytime sky. Anne may reflect the daylight, but she is not sunlight of herself. You are."

"So that is solely due to her being around you 'gloomy Fitzwilliam men' all the time? And her mother?"

"Yes, I suppose so," William replied. "She is the sunset rather than your sunrise, and the clear sky rather than your bright sun." He looked astounded at himself. "That is... surprising."

"Wait," Elizabeth interrupted, curious. "You said something about gold and green being my colours. What did you mean by that?"

"I mean that I see and feel colour with every sensation I witness," said he. "I mean that with every experience; every smell, every sound, every sight - there is always at least a hint of colour."

"What colour is this morning?"

"This morning, if what you mean by this morning is sitting in this tree, talking to you, is rose."

"Do you mean that the sky looks rose to you?"

"Good heavens! no!" William laughed. "To me, the sky is blue and always has been, but rose tints my feelings and heart as I experience this morning; as I see the sun and you, as I hear your voice. It is rather like a sixth sense, in that respect. Do you - do you understand?" His eyes gazed at her in that way he had, that way of watching one intensely but gently.

"I think I do," Elizabeth said slowly. "Is it like instinct?"

"Err, no. It is like, well, another sense! When you step out onto the meadows or the field, do you not see and hear and touch and smell all at once? Do you not see the green grass and the blue sky and the brown of the tree trunks at the same time as you feel the wind in your hair and hear the birds above you? Do you not feel the grass against your legs at the same time as you take in their scent, and see their green?"

"Yes, I do. How does that relate to your colours?"

"My colours are like that. I see and hear and smell and touch and taste like everybody, but to that I add a sixth sense: colour. When you see the green grass and smell the dew and feel it tickling our fingers, I also sense what you sense, but a colour rises in my heart and my mind. The meadows? Easily bright, joyful green. My horse, Caesar? He is wild and spirited, making him a streak of orange. I can easily name the colours for almost anything one can describe. Sometimes I see colours I did not even know existed."

"That sounds amazing..." Elizabeth sighed.

"And your voice? Your voice brings me the colour I associate with love."

"Really? So it is red you see when you hear me?"

"Not red," William corrected her. "Red is for sadness and grief and longing - like blood. Rather, it is rose gold. I call it that because it is the rose of peace and brilliant happiness with the bright sheen and joy of gold. Do you grasp it?"

"I think I do." Elizabeth gazed in what could almost be called awe at her childhood friend.

"Another reason I did not concede to a marriage to Anne is because I suspect she already loves another," William changed the subject.

"Who?"

"Who? Why, Richard!"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes! He has always been her - our - favourite cousin almost since our infancy," he replied. "I was too like Anne to get by had we married, but, happily, Richard offered enough of both similarity and contrast to both of us to be favourites. The feeling is mutual. Anne and I are Richard's favourite cousins, although I think that Anne precedes me in Richard's affections." The sly smile he had on while he delivered this last statement was evidence enough of his thoughts.

"So you suspect them to love each other but be completely unaware of the other's love for them?"

"Exactly," William responded. "Anne is too afraid of forcing her feelings upon Richard, and Richard is too afraid of her rejecting him. Like me, Anne fears that Richard will accept her out of pity or cousinly compassion, not out of true love. Even I still have misgivings about your own love for me," he confessed, looking mildly embarrassed.

* * *

Elizabeth managed to extend her stay by another se'nnight, and it was an even question of who was happier: her or William! They spent almost every minute together, with a chaperone: Richard, Alex, Ernest, or - and surprisingly for Elizabeth - Anne, who came in her phaeton and asked them to ride with her.

However, they did continue their tradition of an early morning rendezvous. William had shown Elizabeth his favourite spot in the entire park: a small copse by a stream that chuckled as it splashed its merry way through the trees.

Two days before Elizabeth was due to leave, she was surprised when she did not see William in the tree. She looked around and saw him sitting against the trunk, clenching one fist and trailing the other hand in the water. "Fitzwilliam?" she asked softly. She had absolutely no idea why she had impulsively decided to call him that, but his intense expression perhaps merited that.

He jumped up with a cry of surprise. "Elizabeth!" he complained. "Please stop sneaking up on me like that!"

"Alright, alright." She smirked. "What were you doing next to the stream?"

"Thinking," he replied easily. "I was thinking about something." Discreetly his clenched fist dipped inside his pocket and came back out unclenched.

"I leave in two days, William," Elizabeth told him. "I wish I could stay longer, but already my cousin Collins is getting irritable, saying that my" - she cleared her throat importantly - "'impertinene' has displeased Lady Catherine far too many times."

"Still, do not let that discourage you, Elizabeth," William said, sitting down again and gently pulling her down beside him. "You are my bold, impertinent Elizabeth, and always will be. I would not like anything to change that."

"Even when my teasing annoys you?" she queried, smilingly. "Even when you are in a temper?"

"Especially so!" he cried, laughing. "I do need someone to be impertinent and teasing where I am intense and matter-of-fact. In fact, I was wondering," his voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if he was too shy to talk louder, and he leaned closer to her ear, making Elizabeth shiver from his breath, "if you would like to come and tease me for the rest of our lives?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Elizabeth asked, confused. "You know I never can stop teasing you."

William paused for a moment, then said, all in a rush, as though on impulse, "Marry me, and you can tease me all you like, wherever and whenever you like, for the rest of your life." His cerulean eyes twinkled with barely held in joy, and although there was a spark of fear in them, his smile betrayed his hope.

Elizabeth was astonished to say the least - and delighted, it must be admitted. William was actually proposing to her! She felt her smile widen untli it almost seemed like her face would crack from it, and she tackled him, sending him down on his back in the grass. "There is nothing I would like more," she whispered in his ear, voice weak from happiness.

"Which?" he asked, his mouth kicking up at one corner. "Marrying me, or teasing me?"

"Both!" And suddenly the friendly, almost familial, embrace became a clear-out kiss, with William's arms reaching up to grab her waist, and Elizabeth's hands playing with the curls behind his ears. The same exhilaration as before flooded Elizabeth, filling her with a keyed-up excitement and energy. Though this time she was on a wilder ride, since William rose and pinned her against the tree. "You pinned me against the ground," he reminded her, a roguish smile kicking up his mouth. " _My turn._ " And then he closed in again.

Elizabeth felt warmth race through her body, acutely aware of William's hands on either side of her, blocking her escape, his breath on her cheek, and, most importantly - to her at least - his lips on hers. This time, he was not so timid, firing up quickly and pressing harder and harder. Elizabeth, while still rather surprised at his intense desire, enjoyed the rush it gave her, and began to give as good as she got. Her desire became one with his - he wanted her, and she wanted him.

When he ran out of breath, William pulled back, a slightly regretful expression on his face. "Sorry," he muttered. "I should not have done that." Still, Elizabeth noted, he did not look as if he meant it.

"William!" Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "How many times must I tell you that it is _alright_?"

"Many, I'm afraid," he replied, pulling a mournful face. "That is, until we are married." That roguish smile twitched his lips again, and his cerulean eyes suddenly seemed a shade darker. Elizabeth grew hot under his intense - suddenly very different - gaze.

He laughed delightedly, sitting down against the tree. "Now at last we are engaged! Although I admit my proposal was a bit spur-of-the-moment, I enjoy it all the same."

"As do I, William," Elizabeth said, sitting down beside him. He laid his head in her lap, but strangely neither of them felt either offended or embarrassed. Elizabeth began to run her fingers through his dark curls. It felt nice, comforting, to be feeling his hair through her hands; his hair was soft but perverse in that it always bounced back whenever she pulled it.

William sighed happily. "Rose gold everywhere," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Is this morning rose gold to you?" Elizabeth asked, touching the tip of his nose with her finger.

"Yes. I can see it everywhere this morning," he answered, smiling, not opening his eyes. "Except for," he opened his eyes sleepily and reached up to cup her cheek, "your smile."

Elizabeth grinned at him, and he chuckled. "Yes, like that," he continued in that drowsy, soft, satisfied voice. "Gold and green and rose and white - Elizabeth, that combination is yours alone."

Elizabeth was surprised and still rather confused at this statement, but she smiled all the same. "I need no colours to feel extraordinarily happy this morning, William."

"I love you, Elizabeth," William murmured. Elizabeth's heart warmed in her chest upon hearing those words, for she loved him dearly indeed. She lowered her head to his hair and whispered into it, "I love you, Fitzwilliam."

There was no talking to the man; he was already fast asleep.


	17. Of Cousins and Compromises

When the two finally parted, it was almost ten in the morning. William confidently made his way towards Rosings Hall. Now, once and for all, he would confront his aunt about her pushy attempts to marry him to Anne. But first, he had an important question for both Anne and his favourite cousin.

Strangely enough, he came upon Richard on his walk back. “Ho, Darcy!” Richard bellowed. “Where have you been?!” William scowled, and Richard mirrored his expression. “Of course you were with Miss Elizabeth – when you are not to be found anywhere else, you are in her company.”

“Nothing is wrong with that,” William replied defensively.

Richard laughed. “No indeed. I meant no offense, cousin; forgive me.”

“You are forgiven,” William responded, smiling again. “In fact, I have just gotten engaged. Congratulate me, Rich, and wish me luck, for I go to face the dragon.”

Richard smirked. “I do not envy you that task, Fitz.”

“Will you never do the same? For shame, cousin, I thought you had more courage than that,” William needled his cousin, prodding.

“ _Excuse me!_ I am a colonel in the regulars, for God’s sake, and I can swear like a soldier in front of Aunt Catherine. You dare say I have no courage?” Richard challenged. His green eyes flashed angrily.

“I merely referred to you and Anne,” William snapped. “I am losing my patience, Richard! Either you declare yourself, or you do not, and make it quite clear that you never will, am I understood?”

“You know not the fear of rejection,” Richard returned hotly. “Your lady accepted you the first time you asked! I have been already turned away by at least two others, all because I was a poor second son; would you try again, if those were your circumstances?”

“Believe me, I know,” William shot back. “I was head over heels in love with Elizabeth before I told her – what do you think held me back? Her father? I am not afraid of him. Her family? I find nothing wrong with them. No, it was the crippling doubt that kept whispering in my ear that she would spurn my advances and scorn me. I could not bear to lose even just our close friendship, so I was silent! Do you think I know nothing of suffering in love? Elizabeth was courted by another, before me. How do you think I felt about that?”

Richard took a step back. “Easy, William,” said he. “Easy. What do you speak of anyhow?”

Taking a deep breath, William said, “I was talking of you and Anne.”

“What of me and Anne?” Richard frowned. “There were only ever feelings on my side.”

William smacked his forehead with his palm. “There it is! You will not admit it because you are afraid she will laugh at you. She will not admit it because she is afraid you will accept her only out of compassion for her situation. You two are so very frustrating!”

Richard’s eyes widened. “This is true?” he demanded. “Prove it!”

William shook his head. “You must make the move, Richard, not I.”

His cousin stared at him thoughtfully. “No, William, I cannot. I am too afraid.”

William groaned in frustration. “Then you must wait till the end of your days to see if the woman you love truly loves you. Richard, you gave me advice, and I shall give some back to you: be brave, soldier, and buck up. Whatever the response, at least you will be comforted by the thought you tried, however small the consolation may be. You led me to confess my love, and I shall lead you to confess yours, by God, if it takes me the rest of my life to do it! Now go on and tell her, old man,” William finished, smiling.

Richard now looked more nervous than William had ever seen him. “You are certain?”

“I shall say no more,” said William. “If you wish to know the answer, you must take the bet.”

The poor colonel was torn between two impulses, William could tell: one burning curiosity and the other crippling fear. After a long struggle, finally, the curiosity won, and Richard wordlessly set out for Rosings Hall. William smiled mysteriously and jogged off after him.

* * *

William sang an original song of his own as he glided calmly up the stairs to the third floor. He expected them all to be there – Richard would probably be late, though, what with everything that had been said earlier. What he didn’t expect was Lady Catherine’s rage. When he opened the door to the morning room his eardrums were nearly blasted off by a strident voice: “Where have you been, Darcy? It is unseemly of a man of your station to be late to breakfast! This is the seventh day that you have been continuously late! What have you been doing?”

“Riding,” William sniffed defensively.

Anne raised a delicate eyebrow. “Really, cousin? Even I can tell those are not your riding clothes.”

“Damn!” It was not until his aunt began scolding him for his language that he realized he’d said that out loud. Anne snickered behind her hand, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She leaned in and whispered, “Oh, William, you are in _so_ much trouble!”

William flushed with mortification. “Damn. I had to open my damn stupid scummy mouth,” he fumed under his breath. Richard sidled in as their aunt continued her tirade, going unnoticed as the ‘favourite’ was scolded until he squirmed and his ears burned red.

Throughout breakfast, William was subjected to at least a barb per sentence, until the poor man threw up his hands and excused himself. Richard and Anne chuckled good-naturedly as their cousin quickly disappeared down the hall to the library.

William took down a copy of one of his favourite plays: ‘Much Ado about Nothing’ by Shakespeare. Quietly retiring to the fireplace to read – that was his usual pastime, besides chess, horseback riding, violin playing (and composing) and singing – he lost himself with Beatrice and Benedick, Claudio, Hero, and the rest, until the door shut clicked shut and the lock engaged.

“William!” Anne rushed towards him and pushed a bundle of her shawls into his hands. Her frail fingers were pale, but they were determined. “You must get out – NOW!”

What was she talking about? William’s mind was still somewhere in Italy, fuzzy and – oh! He jumped up and snapped the book shut. “What? What is it? Is there a fire?”

“No – no, nothing like that,” Anne waved the question away like smoke. “Mother wants me to compromise you! Now hurry, for she and the ‘witness’ will be here soon! She will give us as little time as possible – no time at all, if she can help it! Jump to it, Fitzwilliam Darcy!” She began twisting the thin shawls into cords and tying them to the thicker ones.

William leapt to his feet, his mind on high alert, adrenaline rushing through his body. Ropes – ropes – curtains! He dashed around the room, pulling the curtains off the rods as fast as he could, which was speedier than a racehorse. Time – not enough time – go, go, go!

He brought them back to his cousin and began to twist them into a sturdy cord. He tied them to each other. Along with Anne’s shawls, that made about two floors’-worth of material. One more – oh _damn_ , where were they going to get them?

“The rugs!” he cried. “Anne, please help me!” He pulled out a rug from under the chair he had been sitting on, another one from under the other chair, and a third from under a light shelf he nearly tipped over.

He twisted and tied numbly, his fingers reverting to past expertise. Anne also did it, a bit slower, but still fast. William’s mind was ticking away, sending into nearly a frenzy. Orange and too-bright yellow spiked out from everything, accentuating his panic. Hurry, hurry, hurry… not enough time…

Finally they tied off the last knot. William slammed open the window and lashed the makeshift rope to one of the chairs. “Anne, sit in it, quick!” he ordered, urgently pushing himself out of the window one part at a time. Already he was balancing precariously on the ledge outside. “Loosen the rope and let it drop after me, then close the window, understand?”

Anne bobbed her head in what William understood as a nod. “Where will you go?”

“As far away as possible!” he muttered. “When I tug on the rope, untie it and let it down, alright? The signal is three consecutive tugs, adieu!” The last was said hastily as he started clambering down.

For what seemed like an eternity William was kept company by nothing but his own ragged breathing. Hand over hand, feet bracing against the stone, his boots clicking, he descended as rapidly as he could.

The second floor was a disaster. He spotted a servant coming into the sitting room, and he quickly swung over to the side, bracing himself against the windowsill in case Lady Catherine was coming with that servant. _Oh, hello, paranoia_ , William thought wryly. He was starting to slip on Anne’s wispy shawls, and he scrambled for a foothold… only to discover that he was, in fact, grasping at loose cloth. Anne had untied the rope! William had only one second to see absolute yellow before his head hit the window ledge and he fell.

With only a floor to go, Fitzwilliam Darcy tumbled to earth.

* * *

He landed with a sickening thud. William groaned. His right foot appeared to have been twisted, and the ankle was on fire. His right wrist fared somewhat better, but not much. Scarlet lanced into his vision, and at first he thought it was all his colour, but when his eyes began to sting, he brushed it out of the way and discovered that it was sticky, warm blood.

His head was feeling heavy on the right side, which was where the window ledge had struck it. Pain flared on that side, and with great difficulty he dragged himself upright and turned in the general direction of the parsonage. He knew exactly where to tread – he had been this way many times. His feet took the lead, his hands grasping at supports as he limped on his painful right ankle.

He leaned heavily on the wall as he knocked on the door at the parsonage. It was mortifying for Collins to be able to see him like this, but this was the only safe house he knew, Oh, he knew Collins would tattle on him, but who cared? It was not as if Lady Catherine had any hold on him.

Collins did indeed open the door. “Mr. Darcy!” he cried in astonishment. “Sir, I – I did not expect to see you here in such a state!”

In pain and impatient, William’s dangerous temper flared, and he snapped, “ _Yes_ , Collins, my head is bleeding, my ankle is twisted, and I am standing in front of you. Now, with all the facts clarified, may I please come in before I collapse from exhaustion?” This was not strictly true. Being the active man he was, William could have stood there for another hour, but he was tired and panicked and he simply wanted to rest.

“Oh – of course! Of course, sir,” Collins simpered, ushering him into the parlour. Falling into a chair, William focused on staunching the blood from his head. The wound was not very deep, and it stopped bleeding after a few minutes, but William still felt light-headed, and that was not a good sign.

Then he realized Collins was still there, watching. William sighed and leaned back against the chair, pretending to be asleep. Collins left after a few moments, and, numbed by pain, exhausted, and sat in a comfortable chair by a warm fire, William fell asleep.


	18. Of Qualms and Quarrels

When he woke up, he was looking into a very annoyed pair of brown eyes. A familiar pair. _Oh… damn it_. “Elizabeth?” he began, but she cut him off.

“Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy!” Elizabeth cried. “You and your predicaments! You are always getting into trouble – if not physical trouble, you are shutting yourself up in your shell and refusing to come out. Men and their adventures!” she snorted, storming off to stoke the fire.

“I –”

“Yes, I know the whole story. Anne came while you were asleep and inquired after you. She told me about Lady Catherine’s attempted compromise of you. Why did you not tell her?”

“At breakfast, I could not get a word in edgewise,” William replied sullenly. It was not pleasant to be woken up from a peaceful slumber with a tirade. Elizabeth huffed as though she did not believe him, but she lingered at the fire, by his side.

“You worried me terribly” was all she said for a while, then she continued, “You were there, asleep in the chair, so peaceful I feared for a moment that you… you know what I mean.” Yes, he did know what she meant. “Still, there was blood in your hair. William, please…” The sound of her broken voice was too much for her fiancé, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead softly. He noticed that there was bandage wrapped around his head where his wound was.

“I… forgive me,” he whispered. “I was rash.”

“Yes you were, you foolish boy!” she laughed through her disappearing tears. Then she tilted up her chin and hugged him fiercely. She pulled back quickly, but before he could feel the loss of the warmth much, she rushed forward again, but kissing him instead.

William forgot all about the twisted ankle, the wound on his head, and his exhaustion. Euphoria washed over him like the water in the stream at Pemberley, pure and sweet and fresh. Kissing Elizabeth was like that – a flood of different feelings and a rainbow of colours. Gold and green, rose and rose gold, blue and silver – all of them exploded in his mind and filled his heart to more than overflowing. He loved it… but he wanted more. And Elizabeth was more than willing to let him have it.

Only the slight pain in his lungs made him pull away for a gasp of air. “You, Elizabeth Bennet,” he rasped, “are far too charming for your own good.” She grinned her impish grin, and kissed him again.

The door opening sent them to their respective spots on chairs on opposite sides of the fire like the wind – there one minute, gone the next. The image of Mr. Darcy leaning down, his lips on Elizabeth’s, was gone like a mirage, and Charlotte Collins wondered whether she had dreamed it. Mr. Darcy was dozing in his chair, and Elizabeth quietly reading on the other side of the room.

“Lizzy?” Charlotte prompted. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite,” Elizabeth replied, her usual self. Perhaps she really had dreamed that image. But how would she have…?

There was only one thing to do in Charlotte’s practical mind: ask.

“Eliza,” she said, “I need to talk to you about something I think I dreamed, but I am certain my mind could not have concocted it.” She noted the tiny frown line that appeared between Elizabeth’s brows – almost unnoticeable. What was not was the quick glance she gave the sleeping figure by the fire.

“Was I right that when I opened the door, you were kissing Mr. Darcy?” Charlotte asked blandly, trying not to let any of her scandalized exclamations burst out of her mouth. Elizabeth was a gentleman’s daughter, for God’s sake! Granted, Mr. Darcy was her dearest childhood friend – and Charlotte felt no jealousy towards the kind man whatsoever – but that did not mean she could simply compromise herself so completely!

“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted. “Before you say any of those things that are on the tip of your tongue, as I know they are, I must tell you something.” She led Charlotte back into the parlour where William still feigned sleep.

“William has not my father’s consent, yet,” Charlotte’s best friend told her, “but we have no reason to believe it will not be given. Anyhow, my secret is that William and I are engaged.”

Charlotte laughed. “I knew it from the moment you two walked into the assembly together! Mr. Darcy was absolutely enchanted by you, and you were not so far from the state yourself!” When Elizabeth scowled, Charlotte hastened to add, “I am sorry for teasing you so.”

“No, no, it is quite alright.” Elizabeth waved away the apology. “I must only implore you not to reveal the secret, for he only asked this morning.”

“Oh, of course you have my word, my dear friend,” Charlotte vowed immediately, and Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you, Charlotte. As always, you have unswerving loyalty.” Her eyes laughed. “I wonder if that is the reason I chose you for my confidante after William – because you shared your loyalty with him. But of course, you had nothing in common with his temper!” They both laughed.  
“Was Mr. Darcy difficult as a child?” Charlotte asked.

Elizabeth chuckled. “No; at least, never to me. He was always kind and fun, and always happy around me, with the exception of a few times, such as the visit after his mother died” – here her eyes saddened – “the visit when he brought George Wickham with him, and the few visits a week or so before his father’s death.”

“Oh dear. Poor man – how did he cope with such loss during the years after your argument?”

“He felt the loss of both his parents and his dearest friend very keenly,” said the man himself from behind them. “Eventually, even he could no longer cope.” Supporting himself upon the doorway, William stood as he always had, tall and proud, shoulders squared, spine straight, chin high, face unafraid. But now the two women saw what had been there since the argument: a hidden depth to his cerulean eyes. Sadness; the wisdom of those who have lived through a threat to their very soul.

“He began seeing colours everywhere, his colours,” William continued. “He felt worthless when all he was doing was being stupid. His wounded pride led him to this.” He pulled up his left sleeve, and both Elizabeth and Charlotte could see a pale white line on his wrist, straight across the pulsing vein. A scar. A deep scar.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply as she realized what he had done. “Suicide,” she whispered.

“ _Attempted_ suicide,” William corrected her, “but yes, suicide all the same. Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped in a rare show of temper, as his friends stared at him. “Suicide is not a bad word in itself; it is only the implications about the person who commits it that makes it bad.”

William had changed – so completely that it terrified Elizabeth. Was he still William? She met his eyes, looking for the answer.

“Yes,” he answered her, out loud. “Yes, I have changed, more than you can imagine. I have been through fire and ice, light and darkness, and it has made me something different… but in essentials, yes, I am still William, the William you met in the park fourteen years ago.” His eyes searched hers, deeper, wiser, sadder, but still cerulean blue. Loving, soft cerulean blue.

Charlotte discreetly slipped away, for which Elizabeth was grateful. William surprised her by saying, “So, when do you suppose I should ask your father? I know in a few months we may not need to do that anymore, but I would like to all the same.”

True; her twenty-first birthday was in May, and it was now March. But still, Elizabeth was gratified that William would like to ask all the same.

“I have no idea!” she laughed. “This year, of course, but I have no specifications as to when this year. You may choose whenever you like.”

William replied, “Then when your visit has ended, I would accompany you home to Longbourn. Does that sound acceptable?” Elizabeth smiled and agreed. William leaned a bit more heavily on her through their looped arms, and she steered him back to the door, her anger rising again.

“William, will you please be more careful?” she sighed, helping him down into his chair.

He laughed jauntily. “I suppose it was the wait that did it. Seven years is a long time to wait, and you are… well, alluring.” His eyes glinted mischievously, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“And yet you seem to have no compunction about crashing through water and fire to get to where you want, William. For once, could you act like the man you are and not some teenaged youth with gangly limbs?”

Stung, William snapped, “What was I supposed to do? Stay there in the library while Lady Catherine fetched witnesses? I have no idea whether or not a compromise trumps an engagement, but I was taking no chances in finding out, especially since your father had not yet agreed! In case you have forgotten, Elizabeth Bennet, you are still not of age, and so still need your father’s consent for an engagement of any sort to be official; and before I could ask, this silly plot came up, being in the thick of it before I could do a thing to dismantle it!”

“I was not saying you were wrong for trying to get away,” Elizabeth replied, striving to keep a lid on her temper before it blew up and created a catastrophe she would regret making. “I was saying you would not have been in that situation had you told her in the first place.”

William barked – was he laughing? “Then you must be delusional in regards to my aunt. She will do anything and everything to get her way, and my engagement will not stop her until I am actually married.”

“So is that what it is?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Was the engagement only your means to get out of Lady Catherine’s grasp?” Elizabeth knew she was being childish, but she could not seem to stop herself.

William’s eyes narrowed, and Elizabeth instinctively stiffened. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, far too quietly. “Do you really think I would use you like that?”

_No! You would never do that!_ Elizabeth’s heart screamed, but her mouth shot on, regardless of what her mind thought. “It would seem so, given her attempts to catch you and your iron determination not to be caught. At that point, you would use anyone or anything to escape that trap.”

“I see,” William mused, looking away from her. He stood up – with difficulty – and shrugged off her tugging on his arm to get him to sit down again. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, for taking up so much of your valuable time.” With that, he turned and left without a backward glance.

* * *

William’s heart rammed against his chest painfully as he stormed out of the parsonage. Tears tore at his eyes even as his ankle complained about the stones in its way, but it was not all physical pain. He was barely even aware of the path back to Rosings Hall through the torture his emotions were putting him through.

Scarlet swam in his eyes, outlined in black anger and Elizabeth’s gold-and-green, teasing, teasing… “Bugger off!” he cried, his voice coming out as a strangled cry, his throat constricting with the tears he would not allow himself to shed.

But that did it. He collapsed onto the grass and let himself go. It was so foolish, to be reduced to this state by a mere quibble with his fiancée… but this was Elizabeth he was talking about. Elizabeth Victoria Bennet, the woman he had loved – and still did – for seven long years. He loved her so much and so completely this happened when she argued with him with the intent to injure.

When the tears finally stopped coming, he lay back and let the colours wash over him. Cool air brushed against him, emphasizing how empty he felt.

William laughed bitterly. When had he become so attached to this girl that a quarrel like that could break him in half?

_When you first played with her_ , his heart reminded him. _When she looked at you that first summer and cried because you were going away, and hugged you so tightly you almost fell unconscious. When she reached into you and became part of you, began carrying your heart with her in the small hands that quickly became a young lady’s_.

He had grown up with her, become her mentor, best friend, confidant, and hero, and been so connected that even their short summers together were enough to share whole lives. And Elizabeth had smilingly incorporated herself into his world, where the gold of the sun and the green of the life around him were so vital as to be essential – if he were ever to lose them, lose her, he would not survive.

_This is the introspective part of you coming out, Fitzwilliam_ , he laughed to himself.

Should he apologize?

There lay the problem. He had been childish, let his pain and fatigue take over as he lashed out just to make himself feel better – and now look at the fix he had himself in.

And then the immature pride in him asserted itself. She had been the one to fire first. She had been the one to sigh, “William, will you please be more careful?” She had been the one to imply this was all some sort of magic trick simply to wriggle out of Lady Catherine’s fingers – he had not even thought about that, only the part about her not being overjoyed to hear of his engagement.

There was also her anger. Elizabeth was clearly getting strained because of his gallivanting – no connotations included, thankyouverymuch – and that was justifiable. But goodness, did he plan to be in these situations? No!

Still, he was the catalyst, being so bumbling and straightforward. What should he do? William sighed. “This is one time my father being dead is a very bad thing for me.”

William pushed himself up and dusted off his shoulders. The decision was made: until Elizabeth cooled down, he would keep his distance, and when she had, apologize and, more importantly, keep from getting into any more scrapes as much as possible.

* * *

Why was he being so distant?

Elizabeth stared quizzically at her fiancé from across the room. It was the last day of her visit; in fact, she was due to leave in approximately four hours. He seemed not to notice her; in fact, he was fidgeting badly, something that only escaped Lady Catherine’s notice because he was sitting behind her. She squinted, trying to decipher his expression. It was tortured, flicking from her to Lady Catherine to Charlotte (who had a look of polite interest on her face).

William had that look on his face when he was planning something but was unsure of when to pull it off. He noticed her squinting at him and frowned, his cerulean eyes glowing in the semi-darkness of his silhouetted face.

She looked away, feeling a pang of anger and regret. Why was he so angry at her? Granted, she had said things she should not have, but so had he. Elizabeth had decided not to apologize until he had cooled down. Yet he seemed not to be cooling down, frowning stormily whenever she tried looking at him against the light.

Why was this so hard? She had only tried asking him to be more careful. Elizabeth sighed and resigned herself to Lady Catherine’s babbling and Collins’s sycophant replies. On and on and on, the babbling continued as the very presence of the man behind Lady Catherine emphasized just how lonely she felt without him.


	19. Of Arguments an Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm so sorry for the long, long, long hiatus, but I'm back and I'm done and I'll post it all! Thank you to you loyal people and to the newbies who just learned I had a story (haha). Anyway, THANK YOU ALL A MILLION TIMES! If I were to say the name of everyone who's left kudos it'd take a few hours... but THANKS TO ALL YOU WONDERFULS A BAJILLION!

William was getting desperate. Should he apologize before she left? She was due to leave before the clock struck five, and he had still not seen any signs of her cooling down. She kept frowning at him! What should he do?

As the clock read half past two, the Collinses, Miss Lucas, and Elizabeth rose to leave. Elizabeth turned to him once again, and the man was nearly driven mad by the searching, angry frown.

He was stuck. There was no other word for it. He was stuck. Torn between apology and pride and consideration, he had no idea what to do. William would normally have asked Elizabeth, but with her temper the way it was right now…

As the door closed behind her, the impulsive young man of nearly eight-and-twenty made a snap decision: he would do it now!

Fitzwilliam Darcy jumped out of his seat, much to the displeasure of his aunt, and raced out the door, determined to catch his fiancée before it was too late to repair the damage he had done. The considerable distance was no match for his active hunter's stamina, his rider's legs, and his one-minded resolve. Even his ankle and his now-aching head would not deter him.

He knocked on the door with as much urgency as possible, knowing that the foolish Collins would probably open it. But to his surprise, it was the young Maria Lucas who did it. "Come in, Mr. Darcy, sir."

"No need to be afraid of me, Miss Lucas," William replied, smiling at her. She smiled shyly back, to which he requested, "Please ask Miss Elizabeth to come meet me in the parlour."

She nodded hurriedly and darted out of the room. Within a few moments of her absence, he was pacing feverishly in front of the mantel, his quick mind in a turmoil about their argument. It was true, he had been wrong, but at the time it seemed the best thing to do. It always seemed like the right thing to do, but now he could see bigger than the tunnel his situation had forced him into. Elizabeth was right; he was rash.

Rash and foolish and so immature. He was supposed to be the illustrious Mr. Darcy, with an inscrutable expression and a code for truth and right. What was he to do when that façade faded away, leaving an insecure, shy child with introverted pride and an overly-vulnerable heart?

Too deep, he laughed to himself, and smiled, just as the door cracked open and he yelped. He stumbled and fell, crashing onto the chair. A pounding heartbeat leapt into his throat, spiking him with adrenaline. "God!" he cried, chokingly laughing. "Lord, Elizabeth, you startled me!"

She laughed nervously as well. "I startled _you_? _You_ startled _me_!"

He stood up and folded his arms behind his back. "I came to apologize," he said, slowly. "I know my recklessness has worried you." He winced, the cut on his head throbbing. "I know I have been rash and childish, and, well… my pride does not take chastisement well. Forgive me."

Elizabeth smiled. "You are forgiven, William, but please understand that I will not completely forget about this. Your impetuousness is adorable, I admit, but very dangerous in this world of ours. Be careful, will you? I… I sometimes have nightmares about losing you." Her eyes dropped to her shoes, and William felt guilty.

"I am so sorry, Elizabeth," he whispered, drawing closer. Unsure of whether or not she would welcome his touch, he folded his suddenly useless arms behind his back. "I never thought about that. I should have been more considerate." But when he was close enough, Elizabeth threw her arms around him and held him so tightly he was immobilized.

"I have been such an immature rascal," William laughed as he returned the embrace. "It is a wonder you are still willing to go through with our engagement. Who are you traveling with?"

"Maria and a maid named Daisy. Would you like to come?" Elizabeth slid her arms around his neck, laying her cheek against his. William closed his eyes against the comfort of her skin. "Yes, yes I would. I would like that very, very much."

* * *

And so it was that a day and a night later, a cramped young man stretched his long limbs just outside Longbourn, watching fondly as Charles and Jane, to be married next week, walked about the garden together. The young man handed down his own fiancée from the carriage and stood back as she yawned and stretched her arms. "All well, Elizabeth?" William asked.

She swatted him playfully and quirked one corner of her mouth up. "You well know so, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Says who?" William drawled, finding her hand and capturing it.

"Alright, William, enough. My mother will be over the moon if we walk in like this, and my father has not even heard of this yet!" Elizabeth exclaimed, leaning in closer.

"Aha, then I shall have to take what I want now, hey?" William's mouth kicked up. "Very well then, my lady, but remember, you asked for it."

"I shall keep that in mind, although I foresee how difficult that might be," she quipped.

The young man laughed. "No, not now, Lizzy love, but soon. Soon enough." He led her inside and greeted her sisters with a grin and a twinkle in his cerulean eyes. He managed even to endure Mrs. Bennet's effusive greetings (although why they were still effusive after God knows how many calls, Elizabeth had no idea), and he spoke warmly to Mr. Bennet.

Elizabeth lost herself to the hugs and kisses of her sisters, especially Jane, who had only just entered with Charles. Charles himself was beaming, his red hair fiery in the afternoon sunlight.

* * *

In all the joy of reunion, however, Elizabeth had missed her father. She looked around for him and realized that William was also nowhere to be seen. She chuckled softly; impetuous indeed. But now she faced a quandary: should she go or should she stay? On the one hand, she would love to see the expression on her father's face, but she would hate to be a perceived impediment to discussing other matters such as the marriage settlement.

Finally she made up her mind and ghosted out of the room and to the door of her father's study. Voices could be heard, William's getting increasingly distressed until a chair was pushed back and footsteps sounded towards the door. She opened it to find William's anguished face staring at her, cerulean eyes stark and dull. Suddenly they cleared in absolute relief. "Thank God, Elizabeth," he breathed.

"Sir," said he, turning back to her father; "you may discuss what I have just told you with your daughter. I shall await you outside." He was outside and the door was closed before any other movement was made.

Mr. Bennet's face had an amused smirk on it. "Well, there goes a passionate young man. I thought he might become enraged, but at least he seems to have some kind of temperance."

Elizabeth began to grasp what had happened, and her voice came out in an accusatory statement: "You refused."

"Indeed I did," Mr. Bennet said. "I never thought things would come this far when he asked me for permission to court you. My God, if I had known that that young man would… I would never have let you write to him. How did he do it?"

"Do what?" Elizabeth was confused by her father's suddenly keen face.

"However did he compromise you so thoroughly that you agreed to this?"

" _What?!_ " his daughter cried, stepping back in shock. "How poor is your opinion of William, father, that you would think this of him?"

Mr. Bennet looked even more shocked. "So you do love him then."

"I cannot believe you ever doubted it," she spat, enraged.

"I knew he was dear to you – I only thought his feelings were one-sided!" Mr. Bennet threw up his hands. "He was far too… impetuous, shall we say, in pursuing his case."

"That is William," Elizabeth said, laughing. "Forever impulsive in the matters of love. Elsewhere he has much better sense, I promise you."

"When did all this start?" her father asked, curiously, beckoning her to sit. She did so. "When he and I ran into each other at the Meryton Assembly last year. Had I not been standing in so dim a light and so close to the road that I heard Bingley call him 'Darcy', I would not have recognized him."

"Hmm," the older man mused. "And then?"

"And then we simply talked. Talked all the time we could get, sometimes even came across each other, I on my morning walk, he on his morning ride." Elizabeth took care not to think about what other lengths they had gone to talk to each other, lest it show on her face.

"Ah. Nothing else? Anything that might explain this… sudden jump? I thought you to be only close acquaintances."

"No, Papa," Elizabeth said firmly. "We are friends. In fact, he is my dearest friend; I have come to love him as more than a friend. Please, Papa, give him his chance; you liked him well enough as a caller."

Mr. Bennet laughed. "Alright, alright. I shall. Call young Mr. Darcy in, if you please, Elizabeth?"

* * *

Elizabeth poked her head out and looked for William. There he was, pacing feverishly, despite his shaking leg and the hand he pressed to the wound on his head. "William. William," she called. He turned his head, and smiled softly. "How was it?" It was a question, but he said it as though he knew the answer.

"He wants to see us at the same time." She beckoned him in.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet said; "I fear that you have rather mistaken my intention. What I meant to do was to shield Elizabeth from a marriage with a man whom she did not love more than a friend. A friend is well enough, but I would like true romantic love. However, Lizzy has assured me she feels that for you, and since she has not cared for money since she was a child as high as my knee, I know her intentions are true. So, you have my consent, if you even need it." He chuckled.

William's brows knit in momentary annoyance; Elizabeth knew that he was rather put off by this flippant turn-coating. But his face did not show it, and only an undercurrent in his tone gave it away as he said, "Thank you very much, sir." He bowed and left.

"I apologize, Papa, for my fiancé," Elizabeth laughed. "I admit he was a bit put out by your flippant flipping."

"I daresay he was, Lizzy dear. I only hope it will not cause much of a gulf between him and me, for soon he will take the one sensible girl I have away from me." His eyes turned sad.

"I assure you, I have no intention of doing that, Mr. Bennet," said a voice. It was William, leaning languidly against the doorframe. "You are welcome to visit Pemberley anytime you feel able to, or anytime you wish, to avail of either the library there or your daughter's company." There was a pleasant smile on his face as he said so, no jealousy or reluctance at all.

Mr. Bennet beamed. "Thank you, Darcy. I appreciate that very, very much."

"I know." William bowed out and strode past the Bennet sisters into the garden. Elizabeth smiled brightly and kissed her father's cheek. He gripped her arm with surprising strength. "It shall not be the same as being in the same house as you, Lizzy. But be assured, I shall visit as soon and as often as possible."

She smiled and skipped out to William, whose smile was of such brilliance that Elizabeth's own widened in response. He laughed a laugh of pure, sheer delight, but he cried out, muffling it with his own voice. "My – ankle," he gasped. "I – I must have been – putting too much pressure – on it. It hurts like – like damned hellfire!" He swore sharply as he fell to his knees. "Forgive my language, Elizabeth, but God, it hurts!"

Elizabeth was frozen for a moment, at a loss for what to do. William was literally writhing in pain on the ground, which galvanized her into action. She looped the arm on his bad side around her neck, securing it with one hand, hoisting her other hand under his collarbone, supporting him. He staggered, dragging her under, his face contorted in pain.

"You can do it, William, my love." Elizabeth whispered the words for the first time as her heart ached, feeling his pain as though it was her own.

He barked out a laugh. "I really am making a habit of injuring myself, am I not? I do appreciate you for putting up with this, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth." His breath was sharp and audible in the mild afternoon air. The lines that separated his present self from his past tautened.

Elizabeth got him as far as the tree before he fainted dead away, slipping from her grasp onto the ground. His ankle seemed bent at a funny angle, and Elizabeth somehow managed to wiggle his boot off to look. As soon as she removed it, a thin stream of crimson dripped off the edge – blood!

She found the short stocking also soaked with blood, and gingerly unrolled it to reveal broken skin that had just barely healed, as well as an overwhelming amount of blood and a bit of white – thing. What was it? Then it hit her.

It protruded from his skin – it was _his bone_. Swallowing a scream, Elizabeth dropped the stocking and ran for the house.

"Papa! Papa!" she cried, bursting into his study. "William is injured – he's fainted! Fetch Dr. Jones, quickly!" She had dealt with an injured and unconscious William before, even a bloody one, yet it never seemed to lessen the panic and grief.

He looked up, only mildly spooked. "Whatever happened? Did a bandit come out of nowhere and shoot him?"

"He fell out of a window only three days ago, and he has been walking far too much – William has broken his ankle again, and this time the bone is poking out. Papa, please!" she begged. Only then did Mr. Bennet look alarmed, and he rushed out of the study, ordering a young footman to 'find Mr. Jones, and be quick about it if you wish to continue employment here'.

Elizabeth, still rather in shock, ran up to her room and cried and stormed at her recklessly adventurous fiancé until Jane's soft, cool arm slid around her shoulders. "How is Mr. Darcy?"

"I have no idea," Elizabeth hiccupped, rubbing at one sore eye. "I only know that his ankle has broken again, and this time the bone has broken clear of the skin." Jane gasped, and Elizabeth sniffled. She had run through the possibilities in her mind: there was a good chance that even if William did not die from blood loss, the wound might become infected – Wickham's own death loomed before her eyes. If it did, William would either die or have to have his leg amputated. And so on and so forth, each crossroads ending in either death or a risky option, getting a smaller and smaller chance of life as the crossroads went on.

She hardly noticed when Jane swept from the room, nor when Charles Bingley's black horse thundered on the lane back to Netherfield underneath the very window she stood at. Numb and exhausted from worry and stress, Elizabeth climbed into bed and fell asleep.

She woke suddenly and cried, "William!"

"Lizzy, calm down. He is being cared for." Jane's soothing voice came from somewhere in her vicinity, calming her enough to let her succumb to slumber once more.

* * *

When she woke again it was dark outside, and Jane was shaking her gently. "Mr. Darcy has been asking for you."

Quickly Elizabeth tugged a brush through her hair and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. However, she was met with disappointment. William's ankle was no longer bleeding, and was bandaged and splinted, but little could be said of his good health beyond that. He was tossing and turning, feverish and flushed. His long body was curled in the grand bed of the best guest room on the second floor of Longbourn Manor.

When Elizabeth laid a hand on his brow, she started back from the heat. He moaned deliriously and began muttering things in his sleep. Stooping to catch the words, Elizabeth caught, "...why a letter and not herself? Why? Elizabeth, Elizabeth, come here, please..."

"I am here now, William," Elizabeth said softly. "Fitzwilliam, here I am."

She knew he did not hear her, but she tried anyhow. He tossed and turned and twisted in his feverish haze. Giving him water when his lips would let her, and trying to wipe the sweat from his constantly moving forehead. Jane stole in. "Charles and I have kept watch, and even Kitty and Mary have taken a turn. He has not improved since hours ago, but perhaps the fever will break before dawn."

"Perhaps," Elizabeth said miserably.

Jane sat with her until suppertime, when a quiet Mary relieved her emotionally exhausted sister. Elizabeth ate but a little, returning to William as soon as politely possible. He was still feverish and delirious, though not as restless as before. Relieving her sister, Elizabeth changed his pillow, whereupon he settled down into a slightly hazy fever.

The hours ticked by, though Elizabeth was scarcely aware of the time. She barely checked the clock as she eagerly (but sleepily) watched her slumbering betrothed. Around her the sounds of bustle and business faded away, until there was only the ticking of the clock and William's fevered tossing. He was not even talking anymore, just shifting weakly.

Keeping her vigil over his body and now and again checking the bandage, Elizabeth wiled away the hours between three, when she first took charge from Mary, and ten o'clock. Sitting down to rest her body and her eyes, she read a bit before looking back at a calmly sleeping young man.

* * *

Before she knew it, William's voice was calling her name. She sat up and rubbed her eyes to find him looking fresh, rested, and fidgety perched on the edge of the bed, obediently staying there. "Oh! You have awoken," he greeted her cheerfully. "Good morning!"

Anger forced her to her feet and banished sleep from her mind as easily as he would, in other circumstances, have erased everything else. "You fool!" she cried. "You reckless, reckless, fool! How dare you dodge around your own health? How dare you not take care of yourself? It is unbecoming of a gentleman, sir, to be so careless and lackadaisical! OF all the overconfident and over-adventurous rascals I have ever seen, you are the most arrogant and foolhardy of them all – and I have known five others!"

Barely knowing her own words, voicing only the resentment and terror of her heart, Elizabeth watched the emotions flit across the injured man's face. At the start of her speech, there was resigned calm, then a hint of amusement, then offended pride, then – most pronounced of all – anguished guilt.

Most surprising of all, he turned away, lay carefully back down on the pillows, and hid his face in them. "Forgive me," said he; "however little I deserve it… please." His voice was muffled, so his fiancée could not catch his next words, only a murmur into the down of the pillow.

"Of course I do, Fitzwilliam," she said, using the name that now sounded better to her than the old childlike nickname. "I shall always forgive you, unless and until you do the unforgivable." He said nothing. Sorry for her harsh words, Elizabeth sat down on the bed and stroked his hair. "Fitzwilliam, you must also forgive me."

"Forgive you?" he scoffed. "What have you to be sorry for? A concern for me? A resentment against my rashness? None of those are anything to be ashamed of, my dearest Elizabeth." Like lightning he shot out of his pillow and wrapped his arms around her waist, his cheek against the small of her back. Only now could Elizabeth hear – and feel – his quiet but all the more stormy sobs.

"Fitzwilliam, you may have made mistakes but you try to learn from them. I trust that now you know not to walk about on a sprained ankle?" Elizabeth teased.

He sniffed and picked himself up. In all honesty, he looked a fright. His nose and eyes were red, his nighttime tossing had mussed his hair, and his withdrawn fever had paled his face. Still, Elizabeth could imagine worse, and he had certainly been worse at some points in their childhood. He laughed, sniffling again. "You look surprised. Of course I look a fright – not even I can muster my ruffled dignity after such a performance."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, you – you impossible man!" Poor William looked worried before he realized that she was teasing him. "You bait me like that and you make it impossible for me to hold onto my anger – not that I embrace it overmuch at any rate." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Well…" the young man remarked, stretching; "I seem to have shaken off my fever entirely. That at least is a good sign. I feel like at least washing my face and changing my clothes, but I had not the good sense to bring along my valet." Looking at her, his face changed to concern. "Lord, Elizabeth. You could probably also do with a bath and a change of clothes."

"Do I look that dreadful?" she replied, as though checking herself. Sobering, her gaze returned to him expectantly.

"No," he answered, and he did not lie with his eyes focused. William's hand reached up, his nicely cool finger resting on the corner of one of her sore eyes. "But you look as though you have been crying. Do not weep for me, never, _never_ for me." His tone was stern. " _Ever_."

"What if you –"

"Die?" William said the word with a calm that frightened her. "Then pick up and get on with your life. I am not the only person in it – I am not even the only man in it! You can do that, even if only for the knowledge that I would not like you moping around" – a smile quirked his lips – "but, even so… keep a little corner of your heart for me."

"You speak as though you were certain you shall die!" Elizabeth cried, starting away from him. "How can you be so morbidly serious, William? For God's sake, stop all this death-talk!"

"When should I ask?" he suddenly inquired.

"Ask about what?"

William looked at her with laughing, knowing eyes, and she remembered. "OH!" He giggled. "William, you rascal!" He chuckled. "You – rascal!" As she began playfully pummeling him with a pillow, he let loose a roar of laughter that continued as he held up his hands to catch the fluffy weapon.

"Well, at least you have forgiven me for now," he remarked cheekily. "You know I can tell when you stop your 'serious talk' attitude and 'ladylike airs'." For effect, he put his nose up in the air.

“‘Serious talk attitude'?" the young brunette demanded. "'Ladylike airs'? Really, William!"

"For one, you call me William." He impudently began to enumerate, ticking them off on his fingers as he went along. "For another, we start some silly antic or other, and third, you get that adorable sparkle in your eyes." His grin grew almost roguish, and his laughing eyes no longer red-rimmed. His nose had gone back to its normal color as well.

"Which do you prefer, really, Fitzwilliam, William, or Wills?" Elizabeth thwacked him with the 'weapon' again. "Quickly now, or I shall smack you again."

He shrugged. "Fitzwilliam, William – I have no preference, as long as it is you calling my name." His sweet lover's talk turned quickly into cheeky banter as he added, "But the name Wills is off limits!"

"Even to me?"

" _Especially_ to you, you sly little minx!" Assaulted once again by the pillow, William caught it and retaliated, whereupon Elizabeth breezed out of the room, blowing an unladylike raspberry at him. Roaring with laughter, William settled back into bed, wondering when he could walk enough to face Mr. Bennet with his marriage settlement.


	20. Of Brighton and Bargains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if William and Lizzy seem a bit immature in this work, but remember, this is my first fanfiction ever. Please have pity on my poor self and I might rewrite sometime to give you a more daring William and a more stable story over all. As well as a braver Lizzy, lol. Anyway, here's Chapter 20! Only two more and the epilogue.

William’s recovery period was torture for him, especially when his injured ankle prevented him from attending Bingley and Jane’s wedding, although he only complained once about the latter, and never about his pain. Only in the fifth week of confinement to his room was he able to slowly limp to the dresser and sit on the chair for himself. He healed, and did not rush himself, which Elizabeth was glad for. Luckily for them, he had been able to purchase a marriage license before he even left Rosings, and the wedding was due as soon as he could walk comfortably on his own. It was Mr. Bennet’s duty to renew it on the fourth week, and he was glad to shoulder it, seeing as he adored his daughter and was fond of her fiancé.

Mrs. Bennet’s duty, as she saw it, was to fuss over her second daughter as she had done the first. Jane’s trousseau was a grand ensemble indeed, and as a richer man’s wife than even Jane, Elizabeth would have an even better one. Only the support of both her father and William himself was able to fend off Mrs. Bennet’s more overzealous attempts.

The wedding of Charles and Jane was the usual affair: Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, as well as all four of the bride’s sisters, and Charles and William’s mutual friend John Barrow, who had been glad to stand in for William in his absence.

William was convalescing as well as could be expected, though a bit – well, a lot – sulky that he missed his friend’s wedding. In no time he was limping around on his own, and no longer saw shame in using a cane to support himself. He was, as seen, far more quiet and withdrawn, and though he teased and smiled with everyone, the exuberant, laughing boy from the park was as a dream, glimpsed in his face but never seen.

 _I miss that side of him_ , Elizabeth thought. _Should I tell him? Should I? He would doubtless be hurt_.

Recovered by May (after all, he had a wonderfully strong body for healing, regardless of what he did to it, even from childhood), William removed himself to Netherfield with Charles’ permission, and would laughingly bring news to his fiancée of her newly married sister. However, William’s quick recovery was not without cost – his leg would, for the rest of his life, give him a decided limp, and twinge like his wounded shoulder in cold weather. The wedding preparations were very hectic, so even William was needed to plan.

Meanwhile, Kitty and Lydia were sulking because the militia would be departing in a few days for Brighton. Lydia in particular was especially vocal, while William’s quiet daily visits, during which he would take Kitty and teach her how to draw and play, were a soothing balm to the understated Kitty.

It was on the idyllic day before the wedding that two very stirring things happened: Lydia got an invitation, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh came to call.

Elizabeth and William had separated from the early morning walk, and Elizabeth entered Longbourn at the very same time a shriek of delight burst from Lydia and a wail of despair came from Kitty. Not long afterwards, an ebullient Lydia and a weeping Kitty burst into the entryway to share their news with their sister.

“I have been invited to go to Brighton with the Forsters!” Lydia cried, waving Harriet Forster’s letter in Elizabeth’s face. “As Mrs. Forster’s especial companion – is it not grand? I shall have so much fun – going to officers’ balls and parties and things! I must have a new dress!”

Kitty sniffled miserably. “It is not fair!” she moaned. “I have as much right to be asked as she, and more, for I am two years older!”

“She is Mrs. Forster’s confidant, Kitty, and you are not,” said Elizabeth gently. “You shall get your chance. Has Papa consented?”

“Not yet, but I think he will,” Mary replied for the snuffling Kitty. “More to give Longbourn peace than for Lydia’s sake, I would assume, although I am worried about Lydia going to Brighton with only the Forsters.”

“I agree,” Elizabeth said, wrinkling her nose. “Lydia may not find much trouble there, but she will doubtless get into more than is advisable. She needs a companion.” An idea hit her. “Kitty, if and only if you were to go to Brighton this summer, how would you behave?”

“I would dance with the soldiers every other ball,” Kitty answered dreamily. “I would see what Brighton had to offer, and try and capture the seas to show Mr. Darcy.”

“William asked you to draw for him?” Elizabeth raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well, yes… but since you call him William and Fitzwilliam, and his male friends all call him Darcy, and he does not like the name George much anymore, he asked me to call him Alexander instead, or Will when his cousin is around.”

“That seems a sensible choice.”

“But I would try and draw the seas to show him – has he ever been to the sea?”

William’s confidence of what had happened in Ramsgate last summer flashed before Elizabeth’s eyes. “Yes, I believe he has, briefly, but his mind was so occupied I fear he did not take in much of it!”

Kitty brightened. “Then that is what I shall do in Brighton. Draw a bit, play a bit, and dance a bit – everything a bit.”

“That sounds sensible, Kitty,” Elizabeth said, and Mary agreed before turning back to her pianoforte. Elizabeth rose and went to her father. “Papa?” she said, opening the door. “Papa, may I talk to you?”

“No doubt about this excursion to Brighton,” Mr. Bennet surmised with amusement, laying own his book. Elizabeth chuckled. “Yes, about that.”

“Well, what is it, little Lizzy?”

“Since Wickham is dead, I do not see why Lydia cannot go to Brighton, but she is far too wild to go with only the Forsters, Papa. I think Kitty should be allowed to go with her, but not at the Forsters’ expense. Kitty should be able to restrain Lydia enough to rein her in from anything overly stupid,” Elizabeth explained.

“Kitty?” Mr. Bennet looked like Elizabeth had told him a joke that was not very funny, “She is every bit as silly as Lydia!”

“No, she is not,” Elizabeth disagreed firmly. “I asked what she would do were she able to go to Brighton – as a ‘what if’ only – and she replied a very sensible answer. She told me she would ‘draw a bit, play a bit, and dance a bit – everything a bit’.”

“That sounds overwhelmingly sensible from Catherine Bennet,” Mr. Bennet observed, his bushy white eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Exactly. Papa, I think that at least they should be given a chance.”

“Well… I was planning on letting Lydia go at any rate. To have Kitty go as well should grant us more peace than usual. I agree, then. Tell the girls the good news.” Ever Bennet-like, Elizabeth’s father turned back to his book without so much as another glance towards his favorite daughter.

“Kitty? Lydia!” Elizabeth found her sisters and rounded them up. “Alright, here it is: Lydia, you have Papa’s permission to go to Brighton, but only if you take Kitty with you. Either both of you or neither of you. Now, Kitty, Papa only let you go because he believes you to be more well-bred than Lydia and to behave so. Please do not break his trust.”

Lydia immediately looked a bit sullen while Kitty’s eyes grew huge in rapture. “OH!” She ran into the study where, through the open door, Elizabeth and Lydia could clearly hear her thanking Mr. Bennet joyfully but with restraint, and she came out with rosy cheeks and bright eyes.

Just then a breathless footman rushed into the room, but had barely stepped foot in it before the grandest and most ridiculous gown Elizabeth had ever seen, along with a feather-plumed hat. Which just so happened to be on the person of the one lady Elizabeth would least like to stumble upon in Longbourn’s parlour: Lady Catherine de Bourgh.


	21. Of Confrontations and Consolation

“Where is Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” she demanded, before spying that young lady sitting with her sisters. “Miss Bennet, I require a private audience immediately! Take me to that prettyish wilderness in the garden.”

Confused and utterly out of her element, Elizabeth got up and followed, losing her wits only so far as to only remember telling her father of the visitor through Lydia and Kitty. “Tell Papa!” she mouthed frantically as she moved as quickly as possible to keep up with the swift Lady Catherine.

“You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason of my journey here. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

 _What can she be talking of?_ Elizabeth exclaimed mentally, not daring to voice her astonishment. But in a much more composed voice than the surprised puzzlement in which she found herself, she answered, “Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I have not been able to account for the honour of seeing you here.” The sarcasm in her tone was inaudible to all but William, had he been there.

Lady Catherine looked miffed. “Miss Bennet, you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you may choose to be, you shall not find me so. My character has ever been celebrated for its sincerity and frankness” – here Elizabeth thought, _I would rather think over-frankness, your ladyship_ – “and in a cause of such moment as this, I shall certainly not depart from it.

“A report of a most alarming nature reached me two months ago, though I was unable to act upon it due to Anne’s suddenly falling ill. I was told that not only was your sister on the point of being advantageously married, but that you, Miss Elizabeth Benet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew – my own nephew – Mr. Darcy. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood – though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible – I instantly resolved on setting off for _this place_ ” – she spat the words distastefully – “that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

That was surprising, Elizabeth thought in a bemused alarm. How on earth – but of course. Jane was engaged sometime in March, the month I visited Charlotte. Charlotte or Collins must have written about my staying there, and about all the nephews – including William – calling at once. It did not take her long to realize that _his_ being the intimate friend of Charles, and _her_ being the sister of Jane, would of course bring about talk of another engagement, as one wedding always makes people wild for another. It would not have helped that they were seen much together in company. All this was in less than a split second, and she scrambled to collect her wits enough to reply, “If you believed it impossible to be true, I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your ladyship propose by it?”

Of course she could just have confirmed the rumours, but she doubted Lady Catherine would have been very pleased – besides, did she not like a bit of fun?

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted,” replied the Lady sharply.

Elizabeth smirked inwardly. Thereupon she chose to act as though she was not engaged to William, nor had any expectation of being so. “Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family will rather be a confirmation of it – if indeed such a report is in existence.”

“ _If!_ ” Lady Catherine sniffed. “Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?”

“I never heard that it was.” That, at least, was true.

“And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it?”

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your ladyship. Some of your questions may be ones I choose not to answer.”

“This is not to be borne, Miss Bennet – I insist on being satisfied. Has he – has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?”

“Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.” _And yet it is the wonderful truth!_

“It ought to be so, it must be so – while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in.”

“Even if I have, I should be the last one to confess it.”

“Miss Bennet,” Lady Catherine snapped, looking more and more impatient by the second, as if trying to teach a particularly stupid child; “do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has in the world, and so am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“Then you may ask him for the satisfaction you wish for, your ladyship, for while you may be entitled to know his dearest concerns, you are not entitled to mine. I must have you know that such behaviour will not induce me to be explicit.

“Let me be rightly understood!” Lady Catherine exploded. She did not shout, but she said it with an angry force that told Elizabeth she was working up, like a young nursery-pupil, to a tantrum. “This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?”

Engaged to dear Anne! Elizabeth nearly burst out laughing. “Only this,” she replied with perfect composure, but sparkling eyes, “that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, but was back again, with full venom:

“The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind. From their infancy, they have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of his mother as well as of hers. While they were in their cradles, we planned the union, and now, at the moment when the wishes of both sisters would be accomplished in their marriage, to be prevented by a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Do you pay no regard to the wishes of his friends? To his tacit engagement to Miss de Bourgh? Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and delicacy? Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?”

“Yes, and I have heard it before,” said Elizabeth, laughing inside while managing to keep a straight face. She had heard it from Collins, and from the people involved themselves. William and Anne had both assured her that they would never have fulfilled it, faithful as William was to the memory of his mother.

“But what is that to me?” she continued. “If there is no other objection to my marrying your nephew, I shall certainly not be kept from it by knowing that his mother and his aunt wished him to marry Miss de Bourgh. You both did as much as you could in planning the marriage – the completion depended on others. If Mr. Darcy is neither by honour nor inclination bound to his cousin, can he not exercise his free will and made another choice? And if I am that choice, why may I not accept him?” Really, what objections can you have that cannot be blown away with the puff of a breath? She was enjoying herself far too much.

“Because honour, decorum, prudence” – Elizabeth could have roared with laughter! – “nay, interest, forbid it. Yes, Miss Bennet, interest, for do not expect to be noticed by his family or friends, if you willfully act against the wishes of all. You will be censured, slighted, and despised, by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace, your name will not even be mentioned by any of us.”

Already Elizabeth had six contradictions to that statement: Georgiana and William’s five cousins, including Sir Ernest. And so she lightly returned, “These are heavy misfortunes, but the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness that she could, on the whole, have no cause to repine.” _How could anyone regret marrying you, William?_

‘Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score?” – _What attentions? Happening to have me sitting in the same room with you as you babble your ‘advice’ counts for nothing_ – “Let us sit down. You are to understand, Miss Bennet, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose, nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims, nor have I been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”

 ** _Oh!_** It was far, _far_ too much! The laughter she had been struggling to hold inside since the first sentence of this new speech bubbled up and burst out of her. She laughed and laughed till she held her sides from it, while Lady Catherine watched in stunned bewilderment, rather like a cow that has been hit on the head and knows not from what direction, while watching the chickens fly figure eights with perfect grace.

“Why do you laugh, girl?” her Ladyship demanded of her. “What is so amusing?”

“I shall be very frank with you, your ladyship – it is you who is so amusing!” Elizabeth gasped for breath as she doubled over. “I apologize for my rudeness, but to hear all this makes me think you have lived in a safe bubble all your life.

“First of all, that marriage would not have been successful in the long run. To marry a sickly and weak woman – as you daughter undoubtedly is – to a man would make it hard to produce a healthy heir as it is. Add to that the fact that they are first cousins, and that would make that even harder. Through their union, you might have united the great fortunes of Rosings and Pemberley, but finding an heir to that wealth would have been difficult. Bloodlines must be mixed to be healthy, Lady Catherine – any farmer or breeder could tell you that.”

Lady Catherine bristled. “They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line, and on the father’s, from respectable, honourable, and ancient – though untitled – families. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses, and what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune! It is not to be endured. It shall not be. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you were brought up.”

“In marrying your nephew I in fact would not be quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter – so far we are equal.”

“True – you are the daughter of a gentleman. But who is your mother? Who are your aunts and uncles? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition.”

“If they are nothing to your nephew, they can mean nothing to you.”

“Tell me once and for all, are you engaged to him?” Lady Catherine almost shouted, and Elizabeth’s lips curled as she imagined the prim, older lady stomping her foot like Lydia in a tantrum.

Elizabeth would not have answered this question, for it would not please her to anger a guest, but in all honesty she was forced to say, after a moment’s dilemma: “I am.”

Lady Catherine’s anger was immediate. She ranted at Elizabeth and stormed about the wilderness for some minutes, expressing anger of the most violent and resentful kind, anger that Elizabeth was doubtful even William was capable of.

As if her thoughts had drawn him to her, William suddenly emerged from the Longbourn side of the garden. “Elizabeth? Elizab – _my God!_ ” this last being said when he spied his aunt.

“Darcy!” she well-nigh yelled at him. “Whatever entanglements she has trapped you in, she has no hold upon you. The family shall rally around you against this woman – she will not stand a chance! Release her from this nonsensical engagement – and it is high time you proposed to Anne!”

William clenched a fist, Elizabeth for the first time noticing a letter in it. “Aunt Catherine, what are you talking about?”

“I am urging you to listen to your senses and drop this sham of an engagement to – to this Miss Bennet. Whatever wanton compromises she has forced upon you, the combined influence of the Fitzwilliam and Darcy families shall back you.”

“Wanton compromises?” William seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Whatever situation she has you in, whatever she has offered your baser needs – you must remember your duty, nephew!” Lady Catherine waved her fan at him wildly.

Finally William seemed to realize. “Oh! You mean this, I suppose, aunt.” He purposefully strode over to Elizabeth and bowed formally. She returned it with a curtsey, confused, and was shocked into blushing when he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her with a possessiveness she had never felt before. One hand was captured by the wrist, held up in the air, and her other hand cupped his neck. His other hand encircled her waist.

He held her tight against him, his body against hers, and she could feel every curve and edge of it. When he finally broke away, wind brushed against Elizabeth’s lips and emphasized the empty space. William smirked and glanced in Lady Catherine’s direction, and she winked, clearly feeling the shocked disapproval radiating off of the older woman.

Eyes sparkling with glee, William turned back to his aunt. “Is that what you were talking of, Aunt Catherine? For I quite believe that instead of her entrapping me, it is I who have compromised her! Although,” he added, looking to Elizabeth, “I must say she has quite compromised my heart.” She smiled as he flashed her a roguish grin.

“This is outrageous!” Lady Catherine exclaimed furiously. “Have her for your mistress if you please, but do not make the mistake of marrying her! Do your duty, nephew, and marry Anne as your mother wished you to do!”

His cerulean eyes hardened in anger. “I, as it happens, have no intent of marrying Anne, and at any rate she is already engaged.”

Lady Catherine’s eyes blew to an almost unbelievable size. “TO WHOM?!” she demanded.

William produced his letter with a wicked smile. “Read for yourself, Madam.” Her eyes devoured line after line until they grew even larger. “ _Richard Fitzwilliam?!_ ”

Elizabeth laughed delightedly. “So he took the bait, did he?”

Her fiancé smiled. “Indeed he did.”

“I am happy for them” was all she could say as she clutched William’s arm in bliss. Jane was happy, Anne and Richard were happy, Lydia and Kitty were as happy as they could be without actually going to Brighton yet, Mama was happy, and Papa was at least happy to have gained a sensible son-in-law. All of these added to her own immeasurable happiness, making her heart almost burst from joy. In that moment, she wished happiness upon everyone in the world, even Lady Catherine and foolish old Mr. Collins.

William’s eyes twinkled brightly and his lips lifted into a brilliant smile. In that moment, the discomfort and entertainment provided by Lady Catherine de Bourgh were entirely forgotten. “I would like to kiss you again,” said he, “but I fear that it would lower me in my aunt’s esteem far too much to recover – not that I ever cared much for it.”

“So my Anne is to be a soldier’s wife, and wander in misery all her life when she could have been Mistress of Pemberley had Darcy done his duty?” Lady Catherine snarled, crumpling the letter.

“ ** _Lady Catherine_**.” William’s voice was threatening. “Richard is to retire three months hence. He is almost thirty and while still young by society’s standards, he would like to settle down. Alex promised to give him the Northampton estate – you know the park itself is almost five miles round and the land almost twice that. True, not Pemberley, but not poorly by any means.” Though consoling, William’s voice had kept to a firm tone.

“And this land, has it any riches to go along with it?”

“Rosings _should_ have been enough to restart the estate,” William reprimanded sternly, “had _somebody_ not been overspending and decorating in extravagant nothings.” It was clear who he meant, and she gaped at him before snapping, “Would you rather I appear like these Bennets of Longbourn – poor as a church-mouse, barely able to afford coal in the grate? Would you rather I was miserly and refused any decoration at all?”

“To be quite honest with you, yes! Better to look as poor as a church-mouse than actually to be as poor as a church-mouse!” William thundered. “I would rather you be miserly and able to provide your daughter with a dowry than extravagant and in debt! In case I have not made my case to you clear in years past when I have come to manage your accounts – you exceed your budget! You wave me off and say ‘There is enough’ but no! If you spend too much on furniture there will not be enough for coal; too much on fine tapestries and you will not be able to lay a table; too much on the upkeep of horses you mistreat so badly as to have to replace them every five years and you cannot buy clothing! Really, Aunt Catherine, I thought you had better sense. I must be mistaken.”

She was left spluttering as William placed his hand on Elizabeth’s back and escorted her back to Longbourn.


	22. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth

William gazed out the window on the morning of his wedding day. He was already dressed as presentably as a groom should be, in a blue tailcoat so dark it might have passed for black with gold buttons, pristine-white stockings, and his formal black boots that only reached to mid-calf. He had been insistent on the boots, and Charles had eventually given up. The puppy of a boy had grown into a cocker spaniel-hound of a man in about the month he had been married to Jane. That sister of mine really does make miracles, he thought to himself with pleasure, savouring the

“You look better than I expected, cousin,” Alex said, sizing him up. He and Amelia (his wife) had come up for the wedding, along Lily, Ernest, Walter, and Richard.

“Thank you.”

“There you are!” A familiar voice, though one William had not heard since he had left London and its gentlemen’s clubs, broke through the small crowd. “My Lord, Darcy is getting married – never thought that I would live to see the day!”

“Theodore!” William turned to see his friend from university, the closest thing to a male ‘best friend’ he had in the world. Theodore Dyfed Brougham also hailed from Derbyshire, with a well-built, if medium height, frame, strong, broad shoulders, a fencer’s arms, a rider’s legs, and a wild head of black curly hair with no powder on today.

William’s friend clapped him on the back. “You really must lend me your valet when it comes for me to tie the knot, Darcy old boy,” he said jovially. “Your cravat looks splendid.”

“I, in all probability, shall, although your marriage seems as likely as you thought mine to be,” William replied, smiling. “Theodore, it has been so long! And I must introduce you to my bride – she has been my dearest friend since I was thirteen years old.”

“Remarkable, Darcy – when you were two-and-twenty you barely kept any friends longer than two months at the most,” Theo commented jauntily. “How did you manage to keep one for fifteen years?” Although flippant and normally very silly, under that moronic façade was an intense and passionate man who served his country body, heart, and soul. He had a mind and he could use it. As an English spy he had oftentimes gone to France and back for information that he could gather in any disguise. There was no disguise he could not assume, and none the better than the vapid, idiotic but cheerful Mr. Brougham. However, Theo – or Dy as he sometimes liked to be called, from his second name Dyfed – always burned underneath with a passion.

“I shall be late if you gentlemen keep me any longer,” William announced, “so if you please, let me go my way.”

* * *

In all honesty, William heard not a word of the ceremony itself. Few though the people were – there were barely twenty guests altogether, including Charles and Jane – he could feel every pair of eyes on him, and it made him nervous. Not to mention Elizabeth standing beside him, in a new green dress, smelling lightly of lavender. There were also far too many colours to process to pay much attention to the mundane cobblestone-coloured droning of the minister.

Gold and rose and rose gold and green and blue and silver and so many other shades – they whirled before his eyes, sparking in his vision and enriching every picture they joined. William smiled, mechanically reciting the vows he had memorized, and looking to Elizabeth as he did so. Sparks of gold and green danced before his eyes. Her colours. Always.

As she bent to the register to sign her maiden name for the last time, William thanked all the guests. Lord, his face was hurting from all the smiling, but he could not stop. His happiness and joy and love was far too overflowing for the smiling to stop. William felt decidedly bubbly, almost like he had imagined Charles to feel during their past relationship.

He greeted the Phillipses, whom he knew were Elizabeth’s other aunt and uncle, and joyfully reunited with the Gardiners and their children, who had begged to come along. The twin boys had grown, and William fondly ruffled their hair. To the girls he gave to each a sweet, which they immediately hid from their brothers.

All around congratulations and felicitations were flying, as well as greetings and Mrs. Bennet’s happy effusions. The Fitzwilliams (and an engaged de Bourgh) mixed comfortably with the Phillipses, Gardiners, and Bennets (even Lydia and Kitty, who would not have missed the wedding for the world, and had returned). William felt as though he would burst from happiness. In addition, he would finally be able to show Elizabeth his home: Pemberley!

“Fitzwilliam.” He heard Elizabeth’s voice before she slipped an arm through his and privately kissed his neck. “There you are. I thought you were going to be claimed by Uncle Gardiner forever!”

“If anybody is going to claim me forever, that is you, my love,” he whispered. She was flushed already with happiness, but she stroked his cheek softly.

Catching the request in her eye, he straightened and addressed the guests: “Good morning to you all, and on to the wedding breakfast!” As he and Elizabeth laughingly crammed into a coach with Anne, Richard, Alex, and Amelia, William’s stomach rumbled, and he laughed. “It looks as though my stomach agrees with you, Elizabeth.”

As they alighted from the carriages that had brought them from the church, the guests of the Bennet-Darcy wedding were greeted loudly and cheerfully by the guests of the wedding breakfast, among whom the numbered, as well as the Lucases, the Gouldings, the Longs, and other prominent families of Meryton and Longbourn.

As the bride and groom took their place at the head of the table, everyone cheered, and Charles stood to make his offering. “First of all,” he yelled in his loud tenor voice, hushing the crowd and the children who were old enough to attend, “a toast to the groom!”

“To the groom!” everyone repeated, raising their glasses, Lydia loudest of all. She had learned to like William when he first showed her his skills at dancing, and he had even managed to incline her towards an accomplishment of sorts: design. Of dresses and bonnets to be sure, but she was improving greatly as a result.

“To the bride!” Charles laughed, raising once again his refilled glass. Echoed once again, this time it was Mr. Bennet who cheered the loudest.

“Alright, now… I have a bit of something to say,” began Charles. “When we first met, Darcy here seemed a bit dejected, so to speak, like a puppy with wet ears and the most adorable wet blue eyes you ever saw!” All laughed at the analogy. “I soon coaxed it out of him that he was missing his dearest friend, who had argued with him some months prior and not even answered the letter he sent in apology. Of course, I was shocked to learn of the letters” – another round of chuckles – “but I was sad to learn of this.

“The more he confided in me, the more intimate we became, until I felt compelled – nay, I wished – to share with him the reason why I seemed so puppyish all of the time. It was a façade, much like a certain person we both know, who hails from Derbyshire as well, Mr. Theodore Brougham!” Theo grinned and raised his glass in response.

“Well, with his fastidiousness and moroseness, I assumed Darcy would never get married, especially when I discovered his standards. None of you shall be surprised to learn that he judged every woman he met against the woman he loved, even before knowing it. And here she sits beside him this very morning!” Charles gestured to Elizabeth, who blushed and smiled, nudging William’s arm.

“So I say to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy – may you be as happy as Jane and I am, and we all wish you joy!” Charles’ signature grin was in place as he sat back down next to his wife, who smiled.

Everything was wonderful to William, whose vision swam with bright colours in every happy shade he could imagine. The faded colour of his past was gone, replaced by joy and love. Love for his cousins. Love for the people of Meryton. Love for the Bennets. Love for Charles and Theo. And above all, love for Elizabeth.

He talked and smiled and became once again the exuberant boy of the park of fifteen years ago. He laughed and joked and shared stories of his childhood, drinking toasts with his friends. William had never enjoyed himself so much in his life – except for a few instances. And all throughout that colour-injected hour, his eyes sought out Elizabeth, and received comfort.

Finally the rambunctious gathering came to an end, as William announced that they were to be going. “But before our departure… I have a few toasts of my own to propose,” said he, rising. Being a bit drunk already, he swayed a mite, but steadied himself.

“To the Bennets, my family by law as well as love!” he cried. Elizabeth stood next to him, mirroring his actions.

“To the Bennets!” everyone echoed, raising their glasses.

“To the Fitzwilliams, born and soon-to-be, my family by blood!”

“To the Fitzwilliams, born and soon-to-be!” Mr. Bennet roared, smilingly drinking to Anne as well as his son-in-law’s cousins. He was louder than the rest, for they all echoed William as well.

“And to the people of Meryton, Longbourn, and beyond, who have come to share our joy. TO MERYTON AND LONGBOURN!” William shouted, grinning like a damned demented rabbit, not caring a bit.

“TO MERYTON AND LONGBOURN!” The resulting clamour of echo could have swept one off one’s feet.

“Good day and adieu!” William called, taking Elizabeth’s arm. Well-wishers and guests followed the newly-wed couple to the door and beyond, as they neared William’s carriage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Bennet wiping a tear with her handkerchief, and he laughed gaily for no reason at all... simply the surge of joy that his mother-in-law’s joy for her daughter had prompted in him.

As he hopped in after helping Elizabeth up, he stuck his head back out the window and waved. Elizabeth joined him, shouting merry farewells to her sisters, to Maria (with an instruction to write to Charlotte), and to her parents and neighbours. William contented himself with waving, as he knew only the Bennets and Lucases. The Fitzwilliams were boarding their own carriage, with Richard calling teasing threats after the Darcy carriage.

* * *

Once Longbourn and Meryton had disappeared around the bend, William settled in with Elizabeth snuggled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. The warmth of their contact was palpable to the practically glowing groom, still smiling like mad.

“Do you know something, William?” Elizabeth asked, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“I think I must always have known you to be my perfect match. When the other young men were courting me, something felt missing, but you were everything I hoped and wished for in secret.”

“Ah, we are both of us romantics, Elizabeth.”

“Really? I seem to remember your saying that you were far more pragmatic than romantic.”

“I am, which makes me all the more practical.”

“You are impossible!” Nevertheless, she pecked him on the lips, something he was not satisfied with. They were quite busy for the next few minutes, and William felt all his buzzing joy fizzle into flowing contentment. To be married to the girl he had loved for seven years was the best feeling yet. Most of all there was gold and rose gold for him, green and silver for her.

“Your perfect match, hey?”

“Yes. Somehow I felt a bit more whenever you were around, as though you carried around with you a piece of me.”

“Now you know how I have felt these last seven years.” William chuckled. “Lord, that statement makes me feel old! And I am barely eight-and-twenty!” Giving in to his desire, he leaned closer and nuzzled the place right behind her ear, making her shiver. “Aha, I have struck a nerve.”

“A barb, more like,” Elizabeth retorted, tracing his jawline from the same place behind his ear to his chin, then turning his head so that he faced her.

“I never got to make up for that one you gave me in front of your aunt,” she murmured. “I think I shall do it now.”

Of course, William had no objections, and talking was delayed for another few minutes, as the pair were otherwise engaged. He laughed against her lips, and broke away, only to kiss her temple. “There now, it is twenty-four miles from Longbourn to London, and I am afraid I shall sleep. Really. It is only morning, but the social exhaustions required by my wedding have already run me out.”

“Is that so, Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes it is, swear fair and square… Mrs. Darcy,” he drawled comically, placing a servile inflection on the last two words.

“Stop calling me that!”

“Aha, but I have payback for your calling me Wills all the millions of times I have told you not to!”

She laughed. “As I said, my perfect match, Fitzwilliam. I think I must always have loved you, first as a friend, then as a brother, and then as a soulmate. You know, you never really had a replacement as my dearest friend. Charlotte was only the next best thing.”

“How droll it is,” he remarked, “that our intimate friends appear to have merely masculine and feminine forms of each other’s names! Charles, Charlotte…!”

“True. Still, I always preferred you.” At this, William kissed her again, but broke away quickly. Snuggling even closer, he leaned his head on hers, his cheek meeting hers. Content to be silent, William and Elizabeth simply basked in their love for each other.

As she settled into the curve of his arm and body to go to sleep for the long ride to London, she murmured in his ear, “I think perhaps you were always destined to be more than my dearest friend.”


	23. Epilogue - Of Snowballs and Soulmates

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was the first one out of the carriage, laughing loudly as his six-year-old twins Bennet ‘Ben’ and Anne ‘Beth’ Darcy tumbled out beside him, dressed gaily in blue and gold winter coats. Their four-year-old middle brother Edmund followed them gravely, assisting his next youngest sister Rosie out of the carriage, supporting her as she tripped unsteadily on the slushy snow.

A snowball hit Fitzwilliam’s head, and he cried out, “Which one was it?”

“Both of us!” the twins shouted. “Snowball fight, Papa, please!”

Beth, distinguishable from her brother by the rose skirt visible under her coat, and the long dark braid down her back, packed another snowball and threw it at her father, only to crash into one of his and explode in snowy flurries. 

“Let me try!” Ben called, lobbing his own snowball at Fitzwilliam, scoring a hit on his shoulder. The boy’s warm chocolate eyes shone with laughter. Fitzwilliam laughed again, made another snowball, and hit his son right on the top of the head. “There!”

Elizabeth laughed as she hopped lightly out of the carriage, half-carrying the couple’s youngest child, one-year-old Richard ‘Ricky’ William Frederick Darcy. The young boy sneezed as a snowflake lit on his nose, and his oldest brother generously offered to mind him for a while ‘to let Mama play’. 

“Thank you!” Elizabeth kissed her son on the cheek, and he smiled brightly. Fitzwilliam smiled. He had never quite become the exuberant boy of the park – no, he had been through far too much of both heaven and hell to be so humanly innocent again – but he laughed and smiled. 

Ben flashed a grin at his father before slowly and solicitously trying to help Ricky to walk. Fitzwilliam nodded. “That boy is the knight of the pack, I am prepared to swear.”

“True.” Elizabeth snickered as she dumped a handful of snow down her husband’s back and frolicking away to play with her oldest daughter, who roared with laughter and tossed a snowball onto Papa’s coat front to top it off. 

“Girls, you had better run, for I shall catch you!” Fitzwilliam only gave them a devilishly charming smile before setting off in chase, his limp barely visible.

Like that first day in the park, he was fast, and once he caught up to Beth he picked her up and tossed her in the air, making her scream with delight. “Hah! Cheeky little scamp, just like your mother, my darling!” Fitzwilliam’s cerulean eyes twinkled in that eye-smile that truly communicated his pleasure. His daughter’s eyes matched his exactly, with the golden ring shining.

Beth squeaked with laughter and ran to Elizabeth, who bolted when Fitzwilliam began running again, this time with a glint in his eye. Both of them shouted with laughter as Fitzwilliam caught up to her, twirled her as though in a dance, and brought her face to face with him. Kissing her in the flurry of snowballs being exchanged between the five children, he laughed, his lips chilled but nonetheless passionate. 

Then he swooped down, coat flaring, and flung a snowball right at his flushed wife, hitting her square in the chest. 

“Cheater!” she cried playfully, making her own weapons and pelting her errant husband with them while their children noticed and joined Elizabeth in tossing snowballs while Fitzwilliam dodged them. He noticed his children, and made a dramatic swooning motion. “My own children siding against me! How could you?” he gasped in a shrill voice reminiscent of Mrs. Bennet’s most panicky tone. 

Laughing, the children rushed their father. Fitzwilliam was suddenly swamped by little bodies cuddling up to him for warmth and little arms grabbing any part of him they could – the twins had each taken hold of an arm, Edmund had secured his middle quite well, and Rosie and Ricky had each seized a leg. 

It was like that. While Elizabeth was the comforting healer who kissed scraped knees better, it was Fitzwilliam who smirked with that glint in his eyes and got them scraped again. And while it was Fitzwilliam who told the best bedtime stories, it was Elizabeth who woke them up with cheerful singing in the morning.

Elizabeth shouted ‘Ha!’ and tumbled down to join her family. The Darcys quickly rearranged themselves so that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were snuggled together in the center. Suddenly Beth exclaimed, “Ricky, whatever is the matter?”

Elizabeth was up immediately, followed a millisecond later by Fitzwilliam. Richard was gasping and wheezing, his face tinged blue from the lack of breathable air. Elizabeth rubbed his chest furiously, fear racing her heart and furrowing her brow. 

Ricky wheezed louder than ever, his desperate gasps for air puffing the winter afternoon with clouds of cold steam. At length, while Fitzwilliam pranced anxiously on edge, waiting to see if he should look for Dr. Smith, Richard’s breathing slowed down from the gasping to normal deep breaths. 

Finally the blue faded out of his lips and his fingernails, and the little boy began to cry for his mother, who instantly embraced him. Fitzwilliam sat back down on the slushy snow in relief, not caring for the state of his clothes now. 

“Alright…” Richard finally squeaked. “Me alright now.” He grinned again, the traumatic moment forgotten in childish innocence. 

Fitzwilliam smiled and got up. “Well, in that case it appears to be about time for tea.” Bennet’s stomach rumbled in agreement, and Beth’s as well. Rosie nodded, and, taking Elizabeth’s hand, Fitzwilliam led his family into Pemberley House with a serene smile and Elizabeth by his side. Equals, friends, lovers, and the closest and dearest of soulmates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally this is at an end. However, there IS now a sequel that I may start posting around March or so, on the anniversary of this one. Stay tuned for my next work, 'To Be A Darcy'!  
> I love you all, and goodnight! ~Fanfic


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